


Hey There, Parson Brown

by AbedNadir



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Erik Has Feelings, Five Times, Holidays, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Eve, Quite A Lot of Sex At the End, The Author Enjoys Tony Stark, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, plus one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbedNadir/pseuds/AbedNadir
Summary: Or, the Five Times Erik Proposed to His Boyfriend.You'd think once would be enough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another attempt to write something humorous and completely ridiculous that was derailed by angst and boys being dumb. How is this my life. However, this story had plenty of snark, as usual, and some holiday cheer.  
>  

When Erik thinks back over it all, he’s stunned to realize he proposed on five separate occasions. Five different times he asked Charles to marry him. Five. He should be canonized, Erik muses to himself, except that would give his mother a heart attack. Still… five times. He can’t wait to bring this up the next time Charles is annoyed about Erik’s “unacceptable” method of folding towels.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 

The third time, he really meant it. It was spontaneous, he’ll admit that. He didn’t have a ring, and the circumstances were far from romantic. But he meant it. The words had just hung there, looming and growing heavier the longer Charles stayed silent. _Do you want to get married?_

Charles hadn’t thought him serious for a moment, and Erik swallowed his pride and assured him he was very serious. Charles countered by saying that that wasn’t a proposal; proposals had champagne and mood lighting and disgustingly romantic ambiance, speeches about feelings and intentions, and absurd impractical promises. And rings, he added in a quiet undertone, they usually had rings. Erik nodded and agreed with him while resisting the urge to smack himself. And somehow, that was all they said about it. Erik still isn’t sure how Charles switched them to an entirely different conversation without Erik noticing... or more importantly, without actually answering the question.

So the fourth time, he’s determined to do it right. He loves Charles, he knows Charles loves him, and he wants to get married. If a big gesture proposal is what Charles wants, he’ll get it. Erik planned out a whole night of whirlwind romance and sickening sentiment. He spent weeks shopping for the ring, all of them much too gaudy or far too plain, before giving up and commissioning one from a jewelry shop. He spent hours agonizing over what he would say.

Some the planning was easy. Charles and Erik have known each other for a long time, long enough that Erik knows exactly how Charles feels about public proposals (emphatically opposed), hiding the engagement ring in another object (horrified), asking on bended knee (indifferent), and several other engagement staples that he ruled out of his plans.

It was frustrating to realize that he knew what Charles would hate in a proposal but nothing that he would prefer. He couldn’t think of a single time they had watched a movie proposal or heard a proposal retelling or witnessed one in real life that Charles had admired.

In the end, he has a plan. A very good plan in which he has every confidence. He didn’t think Charles would enjoy something overly elaborate, like renting out Coney Island and popping the question at the top of the Ferris wheel (a true story from one of Charles’s colleagues). Nor would a vacation or weekend away be well-received—Charles didn’t like feeling trapped or cornered, which was part of the reason he hated the idea of public proposals with such vitriol. But he wants to do something special. Something out of the ordinary that they could retell and remember for years to come. Something that left no doubt about how very serious he is.

Only in light of the exceptional circumstances did Erik force himself to ask Tony Stark for help. Tony is an old friend of Charles’s, but Erik can’t stand him, for the most part. He tried, he really did, for Charles’s sake, but Tony is well-versed in the subtle art of annoyance. For the proposal, Erik thought a night on a yacht would be a nice setting. Not to sail, necessarily, but to have dinner with a view out over the water. Asking Tony was like pulling teeth, but Erik had been completely stonewalled when he called a prestigious yachting association and then a very expensive marina. Apparently without a country club membership or a last name connected to benefit dinners, he’s not getting through the receptionist. Thus, Tony.

Ironically, Charles could have done this in less than five minutes. Not only did he have both of those things, but the Xavier family was prized more highly than the Kennedys in some circles, and Charles had built a reputation on his own merits as well.

As soon as he asked how to rent a yacht for a night, Tony immediately asked to see the ring and warned Erik that it was worthless if it was less than ten carats. Erik took a moment to remind himself that he needed Tony’s help and that Charles was very fond of his childhood friend, so murder was unfortunately off the table. Erik told him he didn’t carry the ring around with him (a lie that no one needed to know) and if Tony spilled the beans, Erik would dismantle his lab and sell the parts on craigslist for a hundred dollars apiece. Tony grumbled that Erik didn’t have to be so petty in vengeance, but whatever. Then he shrugged and said he’d give Erik one of his for the night, because what’s the use in having a few if you don’t make your friends jealous. Erik said no, repeatedly and with more and more profanity, but Tony threatened to get him blacklisted by the yacht club and hunted by the Coast Guard otherwise. Erik has decent hacking chops, but he has no delusions that he’s even remotely close to Ton’s mastery of the art. He could probably get Erik banned from international water if he tried. So it was with great reluctance and no small amount of foreboding that he accepted the use of the yacht. Tony turned abruptly serious and instructed him to get it right, for godsakes, and he could give Erik the whole shovel speech but he's done it so many times it’s redundant at this point, right? Right, settled, someone will call Erik with the details.

The rest of the planning is a cinch. Tony’s long-suffering assistant/protegee/sometimes boss, Pepper, does call Erik with the details for the yacht. She starts off a bit testy, which Erik forgives because she spends every minute of every day with Tony Stark; there isn’t enough money in the world to pay that woman. They settle on a date, the last Saturday in August, decide how long they’ll use the ship that night, and Pepper tells him how to navigate the marina and find the dock. Pepper is very stern as she informs Erik that the crew will take careful inventory before and after the night, and properly document any damage to the ship during his use, and Erik will be responsible for those damages as well as any law he may happen to break if they run into the Coast Guard. She’s faxing over a legal agreement for him to sign. Inwardly, Erik sighs, because this is exactly what happens when you take favors from Tony Stark: everyone assumes you’re as crazy as he is.

Erik explains to Pepper that he isn’t throwing a party or intending to break any laws, he just wants to plan a special night so he can propose to his boyfriend, and he couldn’t make other arrangements, so he was forced to call an old friend of his partner’s.

Pepper seems to pep right up at that. Oh does he mean Charles Xavier? Wait a minute, is this Erik Lehnsherr, Charles’s boyfriend—oh my god, he’s proposing to Charles??? He can practically hear her swallowing a squeal of excitement. After that, Pepper doesn’t hassle him any further about possible damage to the yacht, and instead wants to know if she can help with anything else. Pepper, thankfully, actually knows things unlike Tony, and tells him that there is a chef on payroll just to travel with Tony, whom Erik can borrow for the night with the yacht. She provides the woman’s contact information so they can plan a menu. Then Pepper asks if Erik has bought a ring or not, and seems disappointed when he assures her the ring is done, but ends their conversation demanding that Erik call her if he needs help with anything else, and did she mention that she is an excellent event planner and they could certainly call her for advice with wedding plans.

Erik hangs up feeling just a tad overwhelmed. He’s never even met Pepper, but she’s halfway to planning his wedding. It’s strange, he’s been with Charles for almost four years now, and he’s still surprised by the near-instant adoration he inspires in people. Pepper can’t have met Charles more than a handful of times, but she clearly dotes on him and is invested his personal life.

Whatever the reason, Pepper (and Tony, by extension) is a huge help. He now has the yacht arranged, a menu planned with a very creative chef, a bottle of champagne rare enough to impress Charles, and the ring tucked safely away in his pocket.

The night goes off without a hitch. Erik keeps expecting something to go wrong, because nothing is ever easy for him, but it’s smooth sailing. Literally. Just a mild summer breeze to keep it from being too hot. They have dinner on the boat (three courses because Charles says anything more than four is ostentatious). Chilled champagne, but it’s a cliche for a reason— champagne is delicious and there is something romantic about the slim glasses and the fizzing.

Then the moment comes. He and Charles are out on the deck, looking up at the stars, Charles is leaning against his side and Erik has an arm around his waist. And he does it.

“Charles…” Erik starts, already feeling his heart racing, “I never knew how alone I was until I met you.”

Charles shifts in Erik’s arm to look up at his, a small frown twisting his mouth.

“I didn’t think it could be like this. I didn’t think I could find someone who understands me so well, who knows and loves everything about me, even the parts I don’t like so much myself. I… my heart skips a beat every time you walk into a room. Over four years we’ve been together and you still surprise me, still take my breath away.” Erik swallows and reaches into his pocket. “I love you so much, and I never want to be without you.”

He opens the box in front of Charles’s stunned face to reveal the ring—platinum gold with a jagged vein of raw diamond pieces running through the center. “Charles Xavier, will you marry me?”

Charles stares at the ring, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Erik waits.

And waits… his palms start to sweat, and after several agonizing minutes, he’s starting to get a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Charles?”

Charles jolts, looking back to Erik. “I… I don’t know. Er, I mean…” Charles places his champagne flute on a nearby table, his hand trembling. “I think I need time to… think about it.”

Erik feels like someone has shoved him off the deep end into a pool, a surprise shockwave crashing over his body and popping in his ears.

“Oh,” he finally manages to say. “Oh. Okay.”

Erik is thrown by the one answer he didn’t expect. He hoped for yes and tried not to think about no, but... those were really the only answers, right?

There’s a Latin dance night at one of their favorite clubs tonight, and Erik planned to bring Charles there later. After what feels like a century of awkward silence, he mentions this.

“That sounds like a blast, absolutely, let’s go!” Charles straightens up, a wide smile stretching his face to something more like a grimace. He leads the way off the boat, and Erik follows in a daze.

They sit in silence for the car ride to the club.

They dance for half an hour before Erik’s had enough. When he pictured this, he thought Charles would be grinning madly with a ring on his finger, the two of them sliding together in poorly-disguised foreplay, disgustingly gleeful to everyone around them. Instead, it’s closer to a bad first date. They’re both careful of the others personal space and forcing stilted conversation at a shout over the noise. It’s awful. They enter their apartment and begin stripping down for bed without a single word.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 

Charles stalls for months.

It’s killing Erik. It feels like Charles said no and is just dragging out their break-up. Maybe he’s apartment hunting before he leaves Erik. He tries to dismiss thoughts like that as quickly as he can; Charles is many things, but he isn’t cruel.

Finally, Erik snaps one gray day in December when they’re having a not-fight. These new things they do instead of actually fight, it’s only passive aggressive digs and subtle sniping.

“Oh right, _I’m_ the problem, _I’m_ the one who barely ever makes it home from the office, and when I am at home, _I’m_ the one who keeps my nose stuck in some stupid file or my damn phone,” Erik snarls. “You think I don’t know what this is about?”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean.” Charles replies, his arms crossed.

“Were you ever planning to give me an answer?”

“About what?”

“You know what about! Was I supposed to forget that I asked you to marry me, and you never answered me? It’s a pretty simple question, Charles, yes or no.”

“I—”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me no at the time? It’s obviously not a yes, there’s no reason to avoid the question if it’s a yes. Just fucking tell me, Charles, no, you don’t want to marry me, you don’t want me—”

“Signing both our names to a sheet of paper does not equal a happily ever after!” Charles finally drops the careful blank expression, pushing himself off the wall, gesturing emphatically. “It doesn’t equal anything, really. It won’t make us love each other more or magically make us more committed to our relationship. All marriage used to mean was the transfer of a possession, a woman, or to be more accurate a young girl who hadn’t even finished being a child yet, from one man to another, for a herd of goats or a bag of gold coins. It’s arbitrary, and absurd. We love each other, we’re committed to each other, and we live together. Why do we need to go through some elaborate and archaic ritual to try to prove that to a hoard of strangers?”

Erik stands there staring at him, stunned. And he knows they’ve had this talk before, he knows they’ve talked about the history of marriage and what marriage equality means for gay couples today. Charles knows how Erik feels about this: marriage is what you do when you find the love of your life, and Erik knows… well he thought he knew how Charles felt. Not anti-marriage, that was for damn sure.

From the way Charles is avoiding eye contact, he knows exactly how hypocritical he’s being. Erik just doesn’t understand why.

“Charles, I love you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. And I want the whole world to know that.” He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to marry me?”

Charles opens his mouth to speak but he can’t manage to say anything. Finally he just closes his mouth.

Erik just stares for a few minutes, in disbelief that this is how it ends.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Erik says softly. His wallet and keys are by the door as always, and he grabs his coat from the back of a chair. He shuts the door behind him and doesn’t lock it. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t need to lock the door.

He starts walking in a daze, hazardous with the snow falling and black ice. He walks and walks and walks, the familiar blocks of the neighborhood passing by without really registering in his mind. He walks for a long time. Or, he thinks it’s a long time, he can’t tell other than the fact that his nose is frozen and his legs are numb from the cold. He stops abruptly, causing someone behind him to curse creatively, and steps to the corner to hail a cab. He has to find a hotel room, he’s realized. In his hometown. There’s no way in hell he feels like explaining this to anyone in exchange for a terrible night’s sleep on their couch. It seems so bizarre to him, unexpectedly needing to find somewhere to stay tonight, though it’s as common as anything. But it’s a first for him, breaking up with his live-in boyfriend of four years. His almost fiancé. The only person he’s meant to be with.

A cab stops in front of him, spraying his shoes in dirty gray water. He asks the driver for the Hilton in midtown. Might as well get something close to work. The driver snorts and wishes him luck with that. For a second, Erik thinks he knows that Erik was just dumped and he wants to reach through the plastic divider and strangle him.

It’s a week before Christmas, he remembers. The whole city is probably booked up.

Fuck. Christmas. They’re supposed to spend the holiday at the traditional Xavier soirée in the estate in Westchester before flying to Hawaii for two weeks. Erik lets his head thump back against the seat. The fucking Xaviers. At least he doesn’t have to explain this to them. Charles’s mother is going to be so smug, he thinks bitterly. As much as she prided herself on being progressive and modern, and so graciously accepting her son’s homosexual lifestyle choice, that tolerance did not seem to extend to her son’s Jewish lover. Well she can start matchmaking again, her last attempt was almost a year ago. He remembers being so proud of himself and Charles when Sharon threw her hands up, and finally accepted that Erik was not going anywhere. Somewhere there's a god of hubris laughing at him.

He wonders what the newest temptation for Charles will look like. Some slim blond twink, young and coy, to be the anti-Erik? Or a sensitive, dark-haired Byronic type to be an upgraded version of himself? That woman will know, Erik muses, she always did have a sense for what caught Charles's attention. Or maybe Charles will go back to fucking anything with a dick and an enthusiastic yes, like when Erik first met him. Erik pictures it, maybe even tonight now that Erik's left, the apartment to himself and no one badgering him to get married, just some good old-fashioned emotionless sex. He thinks he might throw up in the back of the cab. Now he's just torturing himself. Imagining a newly-single Charles and all of the... fun... he's about to have.

_Merry Christmas to you, Sharon. Enjoy my last gift._

He needs to get it together. He's about one dark thought from drinking himself into a pathetic, blathering cliché at the local dive who tells every patron about his sad divorce.

The cab pulls up in front of the Hilton. Erik pays the driver and braces himself for a resurgence of freezing winter air. He drags his feet walking to the front desk, hoping they'll have a room so he doesn't suffer further humiliation schlepping himself around New York, yet dreading it at the same time. Because staying in a hotel tonight makes it just a little more real. It's a baby step towards finding a new apartment, and fuck, it hurt just to think that.

The woman behind the counter beams at him like nothing in life gives her more pleasure than greeting snow-soaked bedraggled zombie creatures. Her joy is almost indecent when she hastens to answer that yes, they DO have a room available! And how many nights will the gentleman be with us? Erik stares at her blankly before admitting that he doesn't know, a week probably. Apologetically, she requests a credit card and a photo ID, as if she's embarrassed to charge Erik for the room, and smiles even harder to make up for it when he slides the plastic cards over to her. She cheerfully taps through several screens to claim Erik's room, then swipes about a dozen plastic keys and stuffs them in an envelope for him. With great delight, she shows him how to get to the elevator and the restaurant, and begs him to call front desk for any minor problem, they would love to help him. He thinks about asking her if she can help convince his boyfriend to marry him instead of leaving him, just to banish that toothy smile for a minute. That abrasive cheer is unnatural; someone needs to tell her ugly things about the world. He thanks her and takes his keys.

Next he stops in the gift shop to buy a regrettably touristy ‘I <3 NY’ sweatshirt and a toothbrush. Everything else he might need before going to bed will probably be in the room, but he doesn't even have a change of clothes to sleep in. And it's just too damn cold to sleep naked. He can think about the rest in the morning. Except that he's going to have to wear the same clothes in to work in the morning. Erik decides he doesn't care. His colleagues will find out soon enough and he doesn't give a shit if they're going to be judgmental about the clothes. All of his suits look the same anyway. Charles is the one who actually cares about that kind of thing and arranges “ensembles” so he doesn't wear the same tie every day. Another wonderful thing to look forward to, shopping.

He didn't miss being single. Not ever. Some of his friends used to get irritated about the loss of freedom or the obligation of accounting for yourself to another person. Having to call if you wouldn't be home, checking with your partner before making plans. Running things by another person before buying furniture or decor, etc.

Erik didn't take joy in domesticity, and he honestly didn’t think he was one of those people who forever referred to themselves as a “we”: “we can’t go to dinner on Thursday, we have plans, we don’t like Greek food, we just loved our trip to Austin”, and so on. He never wanted a boyfriend just for the sake of having a boyfriend… he just wanted to be with Charles. He liked that he felt compelled to call Charles before making plans for a Friday night. It meant that he had someone in his life who wanted to spend time with him, that it was a given that he'd be with his boyfriend in his free time because they were still nauseatingly in love.

Past tense now. Every Friday for the foreseeable future is open wide.

That's probably enough self-pity for the moment. Erik needs to pace himself, because this thing hasn't even started yet.

"Say goodnight, Gracie," Erik whispers to the empty right side of the bed. If he closes his eyes and ignores the stale smell of hotel linens, he can almost hear Charles whispering back.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 


	2. Interlude: proposal number 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time Erik proposed, or as my working doc refers to it, "Spontaneous Combustion"

Charles is well into his stride now, past the point of no return on this rant. Erik almost feels sorry for the piece-of-shit corporate raider who thought he could steal Xavier Innovations from Charles himself. The story of Brian Xavier building the company out of nothing and achieving massive research breakthroughs in his labs entered public domain before Charles was born. And Charles was the one to rescue the company from public sale after his father’s death, as well as lend his own genius to the company’s flagging projects. Was there anyone stupid enough to think Charles would just let it slip through his fingers? That Charles would simply fold without a fight?

“Fuck no!” as Charles so elegantly put it.

If he wasn’t already in love, this would probably do it. Watching Charles get riled up in righteous anger, fighting to protect his work and his father’s legacy… yeah, it gets under his skin. It’s definitely hot. But mostly, he loves seeing Charles passionate—in his element defending something he cares about so fiercely. He loves that about Charles.

“Do you want to get married?”

He hears it in an echo chamber in his own head, a strangely disembodied voice that doesn’t sound like him at all, yet with growing horror he’s forced to realize it was indeed him who spoke, as Charles has stopped dead in his tracks to stare at Erik, his mouth hanging open on whatever he was in the middle of saying.

“What?”

Erik opens his mouth, and shuts it again.

Charles is starting to look freaked. “Are you serious?”

Like an automatic instinct, he was going to laugh it off, say ‘just kidding!’. But he’s not kidding. He does want to marry Charles. He hadn’t exactly planned to ask like this, or at all, at least now. When is it going to happen though? They’ve talked about marriage before, a few times. Once you’re in a relationship serious enough to merit living together, marriage is the looming elephant in the room. They talked about it vaguely before moving in together, as an abstract, to find out if they both could see themselves married one day and not even to each other. Maybe a year ago, they talked about their future, about getting married. At the time, it wasn’t as nerve-wracking as Erik thought it might have been. A relaxed, mature discussion about the two of them getting married. Not today, but someday.

And he and Charles are on the same page. They love each other, they feel solid and settled in their relationship. Their lives are as stable as they can be—if Charles’s life can ever be uneventful, as a powerful CEO and groundbreaking scientist.

When is someday? Erik and Charles have been together for over four years. They’ve lived together for half of that time. He’s ready, Erik realizes. He doesn’t see why they should put it off any longer. He’s more than ready to marry Charles.

Erik swallows. “Well. I… I want to marry you. And we’ve talked about this before. I, uh,” Erik swallows again, desperately wishing he had some water. “It feels like it’s time, don’t you think?”

Charles is still staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Erik. I’m in the middle of a rant about the fuckwad trying to snake my company, and it suddenly occurs to you to ask if I feel like getting married? That’s,” Charles exhales, spinning around and pushing his hands through his hair.

Erik hears him mutter something under his breath. “What?” he asks.

Charles turns back. “That’s not a proposal, Erik. You don’t just ask someone on a whim, because a stray thought popped into your head! It should be, be planned, have… I don’t know, mood lighting and music and a special setting and fucking champagne probably.” He tugs on his hair again. “And rings. There should be a ring,” he added in an undertone. Charles clears his throat and looks at Erik. “I’m going to make tea,” and he walks into the kitchen.

Scrambling to his feet, Erik follows him. “Charles, you’re right. I’m sorry, there should be a little more to a proposal. I probably could have waited for a better time; I just love when you get like that, and my mouth was running ahead of my brain.”

Charles has his back turned to Erik as he digs through the cabinet of mugs. He snorts. “Oh yes, nothing sexier than my mad ranting. Um. Do you want some?” he shakes the box of tea in question.

“Sure,” Erik says, relieved.

Charles sets the kettle on the stove. Maybe Erik is reading too much into things, but he could swear he sees Charles straighten his shoulders before he turns around again.

The small smile definitely looks forced.

“Speaking of which: I don’t see this thing with Paulson sorting out for a while yet. I should be in the office over the weekend.”

Erik nods. “Right, of course.” Then he gets it. “Oh. So we won’t be able to go to that dinner at my mom’s.”

He does think the regret on Charles’s face is genuine.

“No, I’m so sorry. My litigators have assured me that they’ve taken the appropriate measures to block him, but obviously I don’t want to take any chances. Even if the board refuses to hear his offer, I want to be in the building. It would be just like that slippery son of bitch to try and pull a fast one outside of what he’s legally allowed to do. I’m not letting him set foot in Xavier Innovations.”

“Probably a good idea.”

Charles retrieves a pair of mugs from the exposed cabinets. “You’ll tell her I’m sorry?”

“I will. She understands how hard you work.”

Charles makes a face. “She probably hates me. How many times have I cancelled now?”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Erik says. Sure, his mother may never recover from Erik’s heartbreaking “choice” to favor men instead of nice Jewish girls, but she adores Charles. “Remember, she thinks you’re ‘charming’, with your whole shy English nobleman routine.” Despite a less than ideal beginning, Edie was star-struck when Erik “accidentally” revealed Charles’s inherited title in the United Kingdom and Charles bashfully tried to change the subject.

It might have been a bit questionable to manipulate his mother this way, when Erik knew she had a huge weakness for Austen movies and a covert obsession with the royal family, but Erik chose to see it as balancing the scales. After all, he knew she would be predisposed to disapprove of Charles even before she met him (as he was neither a woman nor Jewish), so it was only fair to make sure Charles wasn’t unarmed at the knife fight. For heaven’s sake, his mother was scowling when she opened the front door, before Charles could even say hello. What was he supposed to do?  
And it worked. Now, when they actually manage to make the trip to her home, Edie reaches for Charles first to give him a smothering hug, then pulls him into the kitchen with her while Erik is left to fend for himself.

“You should go though,” Charles’s voice breaks into his thoughts. “Just because I have to be stuck in my office all weekend doesn’t mean you have to suffer.”

“Going to a dinner with extended relatives at my mother’s house, without back-up, is plenty of suffering,” Erik retorts, trying to sound light-hearted and not too bitter.

Charles smiles in agreement, and turns around as the kettle begins to whistle.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am awake at either an extremely late hour or very early hour (depending on your daily schedule) to finish this up so I could post today... I completely underestimated my skill for overediting. Sigh. However, Tony appears in this chapter (YAAASSS), get pumped!  
> 

The next morning, Erik finds Charles waiting at the security check of his office building when he arrives for work. Charles looks like hell. He either hasn't slept all night or he went on a serious bender. His eyes are red and puffy and glazed over, like he forced down a bunch of caffeine but still can't focus his eyes on anything. He's wearing the same clothes he had on when Erik left.

He's slouching against the wall, as if standing on his own power is too much to ask for at this point. When Charles sees Erik, his brain seems to come back online— his eyes focus, he straightens up, and his lips thin in an expression Erik knows well. The I'm Going to Kill You But With Poise face. Charles is furious and letting it show. A marked change from the last few months.

Before he can even start to sort out why Charles is here, much less why he's so angry, Charles is stalking across the lobby, his shoes slapping on the marble tile. He gets right in Erik's face.

“Where the bloody fuck have you been?” Charles hisses.

Charles's accent is more pronounced when he's not thinking about it or feels strongly about something, and normally Erik finds it sexy. Today it just makes him feel further away from Charles.

"This morning? Buying a new suit so I had something to wear to work. And I'm in charge of myself, so I gave myself permission to come in a little late today. I don't know why you care though," Erik answers slowly.

Charles grinds his teeth when he's angry and Erik is distracted for a second watching the muscles in his face. "Do you know how many people I called last night after you walked out? Your mother is nearly beside herself, by the way, you should return her calls. Or you could return my calls so I don't have a heart attack in the first place."

"You called my mother? Why on earth would you do that? And I turned my phone off last night."

"I called her because I had no idea where you were and I thought you might be at her house instead of dead in the street. Where the hell were you all night?"

He raises his eyebrows, incredulous. "I don’t think you really have the right to ask anymore, but I’m staying at the Hilton in midtown. Can we fight over our shared stuff after work?"

Charles recoils, stumbling back a step. "What? So...so, that's it, just like that?"

"It’s not just like that, and you know it. This has been building for months and you were fucking ignoring it and ignoring me and— and I can't do this right now," Erik rubs his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Charles. "I have to go upstairs and get some work done." He drops his hands and meets Charles's level gaze. "I'll turn my phone on. And, uh, I'll call when I'm done here and we can talk about the...apartment and everything."

Charles flinches and looks away, his jaw working again. "Don't do me any favors. I'll have your clothes brought to you." He spins on his heel and starts marching away.

"Charles, wait," Erik calls after him, but Charles keeps going until he's through the glass doors and out of sight.

Perfect. Just the fucking cherry on top of his morning.

 

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Charles is staring at the closet. He needs to pack up clothes for Erik. It’s been four days now, since Erik left him.

The first day, after their confrontation in Erik’s building, Charles rode that wave of anger all the way back to the flat and threw a pile of Erik’s clothes in a bag and drove them straight to Erik's office, leaving them at the front desk with a snarl. But that was three days ago, and Erik’s got to have the rest of his things. Erik could have simply stopped by the flat to retrieve them… but the risk of seeing Charles must be keeping him away. He can’t even concentrate on this small task, and reminds himself that he packed a bag only days ago, how hard can it be to pack a few more? Unfortunately, he already knows the answer to that. One duffel bag with spare clothes is enough for a fight, a few days’ absence. Now, Charles needs to pack for weeks. Enough for Erik to live at that stupid fucking hotel for weeks while he finds another place to live. Because he isn’t coming home.

His eyes aren’t focusing on anything in the closet, so it just looks like a blob of black with some navy blue and gray breaks in the monochrome. He knows which suits are whose, of course, as he bought most of Erik’s clothes. Almost all of them. He spent months wheedling permission out of Erik to shop on his behalf so he didn’t look like a clueless lab rat, but more like the head engineer ought to look. And he covertly separated out and donated Erik’s untailored, ill-fitting suits, one every time he left on a business trip so he wouldn’t notice the sudden disappearance of his former wardrobe. He’s certain Erik doesn’t realize that Charles vanished his old clothes while buying him new ones. Erik probably won’t even notice that nothing he bought himself remains in his collection. And he is delectable in the tailored suits. Erik looks like a _GQ_ centerfold every morning because Charles just couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed the view, but now he wonders how much longer that view will be his to enjoy. He’s feeling distinctly bitter about the prospect of all his hard work benefiting someone else. Someone else basking in the sight of morning Erik, bright-eyed and bursting with energy, putting on one of the suits for work, somehow looking just as enticing while putting clothes on as taking them off.

Impossible as it seems, that may be the case soon. Look at what he’s doing, packing up a large section of Erik’s wardrobe to send to him in his new… residence. Because Erik thought that was a break-up. One fight, and he walks out the door. It only took eight minutes for his world to turn inside out. That’s how long their argument lasted before Erik left, eight minutes. Eight minutes and everything changed.

Before he met Erik, Charles never could have pictured himself in a serious relationship, much less one that lasted five years and included two years of living together. He never stopped being surprised at how much he enjoyed it, how much he loved Erik, how easily it came. Excluding the last few awful months.

But now… he has no idea how to go back. He wasn’t lonely or unhappy or dissatisfied in his life before Erik. On the contrary, he was content, fulfilled by his friendships and his successful business and the lovers he picked up here and there. Life after Erik will be different. It isn’t just a break-up. It’s a break-up that shouldn’t be; he and Erik are so right together, and Erik is throwing five years away over one stupid fight. He’s grown so used to sharing his life with another person, he doesn’t know to be just one person alone instead of part of a duo.

No one will barge into his office unexpectedly, either to interrupt his late-night toils or in the middle of the day just to say hi. No one will bring him to the monthly Friday dinner at their mother’s house in Queens. No one will play records of stuffy classical music in the flat while Charles is trying to read, thank you very much. No one will wake him up with a blowjob Sunday mornings after going out for a jog.

Now he’ll be alone in his office at eleven o’clock at night when the newest crisis hits Xavier Innovations, no one will force him to go home and sleep. He’ll sleep at his desk again, waking up at seven a.m. with the edge of the keyboard creasing his face and his assistant shaking his shoulder. There won’t be anyone waiting for him at home, or anyone who sees enough of his life to point out when he’s working too much or to bring him a lemon meringue tart because it’s been a horrible week. He still has his friends, Tony will be there for him. But it isn’t really the same.

And… there’s so much he loves about Erik. He can’t imagine a life without talking to Erik every day, watching old movies with him, seeing him push his career forward, listening to his angry grumbles about the newest thing his mother did to annoy him. They won’t be friends after this. He won’t know if Erik is doing okay or what’s happening in his life. He just can’t wrap his mind around a reality where he knows nothing about Erik Lehnsherr.

The knock startles him out of this line of thought, and he leaves the bedroom to answer the door. Armando has a key, so why he didn’t simply come in is baffling. Erik hates that Armando has a key, which is ridiculous because Armando needs a key, as unpredictable as Charles’s schedule can be. Though it probably stemmed from the fact that Armando had a key long before Erik did, Charles admitted in the safety of his own head.

Armando is texting away when Charles opens the door. Good, at least someone is being productive today.

“Hey boss,” he greets Charles without looking up. “Just confirming the flight details for Kyoto.”

He walks in and nudges the door shut behind him. Charles turns back down the hall to the bedroom to finish bundling together the garment bags. He’s spent almost an hour picking out clothes. Which is absurd. Erik doesn’t even care this much, and everyone who works with him is too terrified to criticize their boss’s fashion choices. He dumps the garment bags on the bed and throws a few pairs of shoes on top before going into the bathroom. Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, razor, shaving cream, cologne, hair gel, shampoo, deodorant, the nail file Erik would frantically deny he owns, and where are the . . .? Oh, there. Reading glasses, check. He thinks that’s everything.

Charles stalls for a few minutes, pretending to look around the bathroom for something he missed. He zips up the little kit slowly.

Armando is standing in the bedroom when Charles goes back in, phone nowhere in sight, staring at Charles in disbelief.

Charles frowns. “What?”

“Tell me who I’m delivering ‘a few things’ to at the Hilton.”

Charles suddenly feels the need to check that he included enough dress shirts and zips open the first bag, rifling through it.

“Charles.”

“What?”

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. The two of you are the most solid couple I know. Erik is completely gone on you, and I know you—”

“Armando. Shut up.” His voice is much sharper than he intended.

Armando looks like Charles slapped him, and Charles glances back to the Erik pile he’s amassed on the bed. He’s trying not to feel guilty because Armando is overstepping by a lot, but Charles doesn’t usually respect the boss-employee divide.

“Fine.” Armando’s voice is cool. “I can assume he’s staying under E. Lehnsherr, no false name to confuse tabloid vultures?”

Shit. He hadn’t even thought of—he really doesn’t understand why the people of New York care about his sex life. Though tabloids routinely run front-page stories on the mayor’s ex-wife, and Charles arguably has more relevance than her as the CEO and owner of a major pharmaceutical company based here in the city. His mother has lectured him about maintaining a wholesome image since he was thirteen. Scandal is terrible for stock futures, after all.

“I assume so. If they don’t have a room under that name, leave it under his name at the desk; he can pick it up that way,” Charles answers.

“Alright. Will there be anything else, Dr. Xavier?”

Charles looks up abruptly to Armando’s neutral face. His assistant almost never calls him by his title. He did when he was brand-new and nervous, and on a few memorable occasions when he was irritated with his boss. Armando is angry with him, and Charles doesn’t know if it’s because he snapped at him or because of Erik.

“No,” he says curtly. “Please call me when you have the time of my meeting with Nigella.”

“Yes, Dr. Xavier.”

Armando drapes the garment bags over his arms and stows everything else in the slim messenger bag at his hip, normally used for documents. After he leaves, Charles drops into the living room sofa, his sleep deprivation catching up with him. He can barely keep his eyes open. He hasn’t been sleeping very well since Erik left. He never noticed before how much warmth Erik brought with him, and how cold their bed is without him. And it’s too quiet at night—god. He’s not doing this again.

Fuck it, he decides suddenly. Armando’s already pissed off, he might as well take advantage of that. He’s not going back into the office. A nap sounds heavenly right about now; he only managed four hours of sleep last night. Everything he was going to do can wait until tomorrow. He’s been working long hours, even by his standards, for weeks so that he could take the time off with Erik.

He laughs, out loud and bitter. Good timing, this break-up. Neither one of them will want to use the tickets and the vacation, paid for months ago. Maybe he can at least get his ticket switched to another destination. He could go to Europe. Charles can’t remember the last time he was in London for play instead of work. Or Edinburgh. Cold as all hell this time of year, but beautiful.

And he’s going out tonight. His sleep-deprived brain seems to have the same impulsive streak as his drunk brain. Which, yes, he would like to go to there, how long has it been since he got well and truly pissed? Erik was never a fan of Charles flirting with the blackout side of a bender. But Erik’s gone. So he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and he wants to go on a serious pub crawl tonight. Maybe Tony would like to join him, Tony will make sure he forgets today in a haze of alcohol. Charles scrounges his phone out of his pocket and calls him. Several rings and voicemail. Tony is useless at answering his phone.

“Greetings from the North Pole, it’s Santa Stark! If you’re one of my little elves, hang up and call Ms. Potts. If you’re a member of the Fourth Estate, Santa isn’t allowed to do any more interviews this month, Anderson Cooper is still rebuilding his studio. If you’re calling for tech support, try turning it off and on again. And if you’re anyone else, keep it short and don’t be boring. Have a happy religious and/or secular holiday!” Beep.

“Tony, it’s me. Listen, I want to go out tonight, so reschedule whatever else you were going to do. I was thinking a bit of a pub crawl and then we could hit some clubs, like we used to back in uni.” Charles takes a careful pause. “You’re not getting too old for that, are you? Ring me back around nine, see you later, love.”

For all his genius, reverse psychology usually produces good effects with Tony. Imply he’s too old for clubbing, and he’ll be dragging you through the streets until five in the morning.

In light of those expectations, and his sleep debt, Charles curls into the arm of the couch and promptly falls asleep.

 

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There is nothing for ennui quite like the flashing neon lights of a gay club.

His regular haunts are a bit more subdued and low-key, but that isn’t what he wants now. Tonight, he wants something loud and bright that will easily sweep him into its current and keep him there, drunk on bright blue shots and thumping pop music. He wants to forget everything outside of this place, and let himself see only the other clubgoers twisting together on the dancefloor and the music videos playing over an entire wall.

Charles throws his head back as he takes his next shot, knowing the movement emphasizes his throat and looks pretty damn sexy. He swallows quickly, shuddering at the horrible taste of bottom-shelf liquor, and abandons the empty cup on the bar.

A Whitney Houston remix comes on and Charles bursts out laughing. “Yes! Tony, come dance with me, c’mon!” He turns around and grabs Tony’s arm, dragging him off before he has time to run away.

“Really, Charles? I think we’re all glad disco died, do we have to drag its dead zombie corpse out tonight? Whitney doesn’t need anything else to cry about,” Tony complains.

“Don’t whine, you’re killing my vibe. Dance with me,” he shouts over the music. Charles places Tony’s hands on his hips and starts moving.

“As long as you leave room for Jesus, I’m not that kind of girl,” Tony yells back as he moves at Charles’s direction.

There isn’t much room for dancing, and this club is more of a sweaty grind kind of place anyway, so Charles does the best he can without toppling into the other dancers. Not that they would mind. In fact, that’s what most people do. Wander out onto the dance floor after a few drinks and make a move on the nearest person that catches their attention. When they get bored, they find someone else to dance with. Easy, uncomplicated, and it works out for everyone.

Despite his extended experimental phase, Tony is mostly straight. He says he reserves the right to change his standing at any time, you never know who you’ll fall in love with. And some part of Charles wonders if some part of Tony was ever in love with him. Charles did make up a portion of Tony’s experimenting. He thinks it would be easier to untangle their relationship if they hadn’t been friends for so long. Ever since that week when Tony was fifteen and grounded for a month by his father, who dragged him to a business event as punishment. Brian Xavier’s party, as it turned out, for a group of people he considered the forefront in scientific achievements at the time. Charles was there, and as the only two people under the age of forty, they hit it off rather spectacularly. They’ve been the best of friends ever since.

Charles is usually of a mind to believe Tony is straight. If nothing else, his dancing proves it. He doesn’t do much besides shuffle his feet side to side and keep his elbows locked in a ninety-degree angle. Granted, it’s a wide world filled with all kinds of people, but Charles has never seen a gay man dance like that. He bites back a groan of frustration at Tony’s dancing and begins looking around him. Tony won’t mind if he finds another dance partner, he didn’t even want to be dancing in the first place.

He squints through near-blackness of the club, barely able to see anything. After a few minutes, a hot blonde in a bright blue top catches his eye. The man is doing a full-body roll that any stripper could be proud of. Perfect. Charles slips through the miniscule gaps on the dance floor to reach him, giving the man his best coy smile and moving close. He reaches his hands out to the man’s waist, but stops before touching him, raising an eyebrow in question. The blonde grins and nods, pressing his body against Charles. He starts rolling his hips again, more slowly with a new song, and Charles does what he can to match his rhythm.

Finally. This is what he came for. He loves dancing, and he especially loves dancing when he’s drunk and his partner knows what he’s doing. The blonde is really quite sexy, moving his body in perfect counterpart to the music, lightly running his hands over Charles’s shoulders.

“I’m Blane!” the blonde shouts in his ear during a break in the music.

“I’m Char-er, Carl!” Charles shouts back at the other man. He doesn't use his real name to strangers at clubs, too risky. Back in the day, he never would have fumbled like that. Hopefully Blane is too drunk to notice.

“Cool!” Blane grins at him. “I like this song!”

“Definitely!” Ah, the scintillating verbosity of conversation in clubs. How he hasn’t missed it.

The songs start to blend together, one after another, fast to less fast and back again, pressed tight against an attractive stranger who seems to like dancing as much as Charles does. They turn and twist and move against each other, pausing to laugh here and there at some of the more outrageous couples on the floor. Charles lets one hand drift from the man’s waist to his ass, cupping it and squeezing. Blane shivers a little and tries to press himself forward, but there really isn’t anywhere to go; he and Charles are already pressed up against each other, hips to shoulders. Clearly that wasn’t unwelcome, so Charles feels free to grope his ass a little more and a nice firm ass it is. A little different from Erik’s—

Charles freezes for a moment. No. No, he’s not going there. He’s been doing very well. He’s not going to think about Erik. He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds against the blonde, pushing his hips tight against Blane’s as he pulls him close by his ass. Blane gasps as the sudden change in position, which presses their groins together. Charles is now very sure that he could fuck Blane if he wanted to, Blane is certainly up for it.

Blane groans and blows out a breath over Charles’s ear. Which is probably supposed to be sexy, but mostly feels ticklish. Blane starts kissing the side of his face and his jaw, and it’s… fine. He just needs to focus and it’ll get good, as soon as he stops being so distracted.

The minute he starts inching a hand into Blane’s trousers, someone seizes his shoulder from behind and yanks at him, hard. Charles stumbles and nearly knocks over the person who grabbed him. Whatever, they deserved it. He turns to yell at them, and sees Tony staring back at him, looking unimpressed. And maybe just a little disappointed. That stings more than he’d like it to.

“Hey man, we’re fine over here, leave him alone,” Blane interjects from behind Charles.

Tony turns to look at him and scowls. “Actually, you’re not fine, Vanilla Ice. Seriously, did you steal that shirt from a go go dancer? And not, like, a good one, the awful ones who just embarrass everyone involved. You’re getting all up on my… _oh_ , my boyfriend. Ha! This is my boyfriend!” he shouts happily, pulling Charles under his arm. Tony is grinning, obviously proud of himself for his brilliant fib, and it’s all Charles can do not to start laughing at him.

Blane, however, is not laughing. He shoots Charles a filthy glare and stalks away to the far end of the bar.

“Not that I don’t enjoy watching you make an ass of yourself, but what the hell was that? You’re supposed to be my wingman, not my cockblock.”

“First of all, cockblock? How is that still a thing? Anyone with any game knows that’s not actually a thing. Second, I’m supposed to be neither of those things because I’m your best friend and you don’t need them.”

It’s hard to hear anything in this place. “What?”

“You don’t need a wingman, Charles, you already got yourself a man.”

Charles lurches back, shaking off Tony’s arm. “Why would you say that? I told you I didn’t want to talk about him, I just wanted to get wasted. _He left me_ , Tony! It’s the absolute last thing I want to think about tonight.”

His friend is leaning closer with every word, cupping a hand around his ear. “Shit, Charles, I’m only getting every few words. Let’s go outside.”

“No. I came here to dance and drink, and you’re also being a bit of a twat, so I don’t really want to talk.”

“Hurtful.” Tony considers for a few seconds. “I have weed? Come outside and I’ll give you some.”

Damnit. “Fine.”

Charles doesn’t say another word until Tony keeps his promise and lights a joint for him.

“What?” Well he didn’t promise to be nice.

Tony sighs. “C’mon, Charles. You know this isn’t right, this isn’t you.”

“What isn’t me? Because there’s nothing I’ve done tonight that I haven’t done a hundred times before.”

“Exactly,” Tony wags a winger at him. “Before. Before Erik. Pretty sure you’re going to regret cheating in the cold sober light of morning”

Charles coughs up a plume of smoke. “For god’s sake, Tony, what is your fucking problem? Erik and I are finished! And you don’t even like him, why are you trying to force me to talk about all of my sad sad feelings?”

“Because you’re acting like a moron. Do you remember when you and Erik got together, and he asked you if you guys were going to be exclusive and you, like, laughed in his face?”

“Oh fuck off, Tony, I didn’t—”

“Right, you gave him an eloquent speech about the advantages of casual dating and the reduced stress of—I’ve heard the lecture, professor. Doesn’t matter how you said it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with casual dating, and as someone who’s been in a serious relationship for five years, I still believe that.”

“Four.”

“What?”

“Four years. Because you completely fucked up that first year, when you and Erik weren’t exclusive.”

Charles opens his mouth to counter that, but Tony cuts him off. “But remember how you were still seeing a bunch of other people on the side, and Erik went along with it? He knew exactly what was going on every time you said you were ‘busy’ or you put off plans. And he didn’t throw a fit or break up with you or even pull some petty Real Housewives scheme to make you jealous. He just waited for you. Through all your bullshit and fucking around, he waited for you to figure it out. Like, Charles, I love you and we’re brothers to the end and all that, but I told Erik to dump your ass because you were walking all over him.”

Tony laughs when he sees the look on Charles’s face. “Please, like you haven’t done the same to most of the women I’ve dated. At least Erik never listens to anything I say, because he hates me, but like especially when I’m calling him whipped as fuck.”

“Well screw you too.” Charles stubs out the joint on the brick wall behind them and throws it away from him as hard as he can, turning to leave.

Tony grabs his arm, holding tight despite Charles trying to get free. “Tell me why you said no when he proposed.”

His whole body locks up, he can’t seem to move his arm at all, much less tug it away from Tony’s grasp.

“He… he told you about that? Why? When have you two ever even talked?”

“He didn’t tell me about it. But it didn’t require my genius intellect to figure out what was going on when he needed help renting a yacht for a ‘special night’. The only other explanation was that Erik is secretly seventeen and trying to score after prom night.”

“Tony.”

“Okay.” Tony pauses. “Erik called me back in June when he was planning the whole thing. Had a little trouble with the whole secret password and handshake that the WASPy social clubs of New York use to protect themselves from the scary normal people. So I told him I had a yacht he could borrow.”

Charles frowns. “Your yacht is in California.”

“Yet it worked because Erik didn’t know that.”

He really wants remain pissed off over the “moron” comment, but. “Oh, Tony. You bought a yacht so Erik could propose to me?”

“It was short-sighted not to have one here, I have totally ignored a whole subgenre of parties I could have been throwing this whole time. I could have been lobster fishing in Maine! It was actually a very practical decision. That you don’t ever tell Erik about.”

“Alright, I’ll keep up your shallow heartless playboy facade. You certainly did not buy a multi-million dollar ship just so that your best friend could have his boyfriend propose in the most romantic night of his life. That would be absurd.”

Tony coughs. “Right, glad we’re on the same page. So, told him he could borrow the yacht. And Pepper may have helped too, getting him set up with a chef and everything. He had the ring already, so there wasn’t a lot to do,” he shrugs, “but, well, obviously I knew Erik proposed. And yet I heard nothing from you or anybody else about your engagement and upcoming wedding. So, c’mon. Tell me why you said no.”

Because marriage is bullshit. It’s bullshit because… because of all the things, all of the many brilliant points he made when he told Erik this. He’s drunk, he can’t remember this shit.

Charles doesn’t realize he said this aloud until Tony scoffs. Damn that weed hit fast. “Yeah, you’re too drunk to remember your rationale for making one of the most important decisions of your life,” Tony says, “but I bet you can still rattle off your doctorate thesis word for word.”

“Pff! That’s different, that’s like… those words are seared into my brain, Tony, couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

“You really can’t remember a single thing you told him about why you didn’t want to be with him?”

“Don’t do that, don’t twist it around. I want to be with him, you know I want to be with him, I just don’t want to marry him.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because marriage is bullshit. It is, it’s so stupid. It’s like, what, you pay thirty dollars and sign your names to the same piece of paper, and that’s it? Like a magic wish, you’ll live happily ever after?”

“Yes, I believe there’s a clause in fine print at the bottom that reads ‘bippity-boppity-boo’.”

“You’re laughing at me, but honestly, it is that ridiculous. There’s no happy ending, there’s no magical fadeout and a perfect love song while the credits roll. There’s just, more of the same, more reality. It doesn’t change anything.”

Tony hmms to himself. “So, if it doesn’t change anything, why not do it?”

“What?”

“You keep saying that marriage doesn’t give you a happy ending—which, by the way, can we point out that I let that go without saying the huge joke staring us in the face and I feel I should be rewarded for that—anyway, if you think getting married won’t change your relationship, why not do it, to make Erik happy?”

Charles stares at him. “But that’s not really a good reason.”

“Only you would know that. So why not do that?”

“Because... “

“Can’t be because you’re afraid Erik would ruin it, right? He’d never cheat on you or fall out of love with you, would he?”

That’s enough. “Shut up, Tony! Seriously, stop. I know what you're doing. And Erik's not like that, he’s a good person, and he… he wouldn’t.”

“You sure?”

That makes him pause. Why is Tony harping on this particular point? “Why are you asking? Did you… did you hear something? Is he seeing someone else?” Charles sucks in a breath. “Oh god, tell me it’s not that slut in his marketing department, she tried to spill her drink on me at the last company party and she wears nothing but v-necks so she can shove her tits in Erik’s face.”

“Wow,” Tony says dryly, “took you about six seconds to completely lose faith in him. Don't you trust him?”

“Of course I do!” Charles shouts the words, and they sound defensive. But he realizes he truly means them. He tells Erik everything, they have no secrets between them. Or at least, that used to be true before the horrible cold war of the last few months. It’s just.

“I do trust him. But god, Tony, have you seen him? I know you can appreciate gorgeous men. And he’s not just gorgeous, he’s smart and kind and fun. Erik could have anyone he wants. Why would he sign on to the rest of his life with me? What does he see in me?”

Tony lets out a breath and steps forward, pulling Charles into a hug before Charles even sees it coming. And it’s a little strange because Tony is really not a hug kind of person. “Whoomp, there it is. Look, I’m only going to say this once. And we’ll never bring it up again, deal?” Charles nods against Tony’s chest. “Charles, if things had been different… I don’t know, maybe if we’d gotten the timing right or I wasn’t a complete idiot or you had been looking for something more… maybe we would be having this conversation about our relationship, and I’d be trying to convince you to marry me, not someone else.” Charles stiffens in Tony’s arms, but Tony hurries on. “No, look, it’s not that. You're so important to me, but I think we ended up where we were meant to be. As much as I think Erik could improve himself by removing the stick shoved up his ass, he’s it for you and we both know that. I want you to be happy and Erik makes you happy. You love him more than I’ve ever seen you love someone. It will wreck you to lose him for real. And you don’t have to. Erik is the real deal. He loves you, he doesn’t want anything from you but yourself. You’re not Sharon, Charles. You won’t have a series of failed marriages with men who just wanted to use you, for money or social climbing or business or whatever, and then leave you when they get bored. Erik doesn’t care about any of that. And he kind of hates most people except for you, have you ever noticed that? Maybe this whole time, during the last five years, Erik’s been sitting around thinking, ‘wow, I found this amazing guy after thirty years of hating everyone I met and thinking I’d be alone forever, how did I get so lucky?’. Maybe you’re _his_ Prince Charming after a lifetime of people who were awful to him and never saw past the grouch exterior. Maybe he’s trying to sleep right now wondering what you ever saw in him.”

The tears started welling up about halfway through that, and now they’re running freely down his face. God he’s been such a fucking wanker.

Tony waits for a minute. “Is this the part where you say I’m right and then I get to be smug for the next fifty years?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I’m wiping my nose on your shirt.”

“You definitely want me to hack his credit card records and get a copy of his hotel room key then, right?”

“Goes without saying.”

“Writing your apology speech in your head?”

“Think I’m going to open with ‘I’m sorry’, and then just say it a million more times until he caves from exhaustion.”

“My kind of plan. But you should wait until tomorrow.”

Charles finally looks up at that. “What, why? I don’t want to wait, I want to see him right now.”

“While you’re high and drunk and dressed to go clubbing and a little sweaty with someone else’s glitter all over your face?”

“...point taken.”

“Hey.” Tony nudges his chin up. “It’s going to be okay. Erik loves you. He still wants to marry you. You haven’t lost him.”

Charles just nods, not trusting his voice.

“Okay.” Tony nods once, satisfied, then calls for his driver to pull forward and herds Charles into the car. “C’mon, stay with me tonight, sober up, and we’ll craft a plan of attack tomorrow.”

Charles slumps against Tony in the backseat. “I’m going to say this once and we’ll never speak of it again, capisce?” Tony bobs his head in acknowledgment. “I may not be in love with you, Tony, but I love you very much.”

Tony hums beside him. “I love you too. Now go to sleep. Your breath reeks.”

 

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	4. Interlude: proposal number 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time Erik proposed

For weeks, though right now it feels like a century, Erik has been working sixteen-hour days on this project. It’s enormously important to the firm, but Erik knows that this project will determine whether or not he gets the promotion he’s wanted for ages. If he gets the promotion, it will all be worth it. He’s put in four years at this company and he feels confident in his ideas for this project. It would surprise him if he didn’t get the promotion, actually, but he’s still nervous about it.

Either way, he’s just grateful it’s nearly over. He would like to have a life again. Sure, his version of a social life is just hanging out with his boyfriend, but still. He’s barely seen said boyfriend for weeks. Charles came over last night to force him to go to sleep by midnight, and it was woefully free of anything sexual. When Erik complained, Charles just rolled his eyes and smiled, and said he’d much rather Erik get a good night’s sleep before the client presentation than get laid.

When he presents everything to the clients, they’re very pleased and compliment Erik’s bosses on their brilliance, who humbly insist it was a collective effort. Erik refuses to roll his eyes in front of them, which turns out to be a good thing, because as soon as the clients leave, his boss turns to him with a big smile, claps him on the shoulder, and congratulates him on being the new head engineer. Erik can’t find anything to say. Maybe it’s the accrued stress of the last few weeks, maybe he’s overwhelmed with the promotion he’s wanted for so long, but his brain just can’t seem to find words and link them together. His boss takes it in stride, laughing, and tells Erik to take the rest of the day off, let it sink in, maybe celebrate. Erik manages to thank him before rushing out of the building like it’s on fire. He is going to take a power nap and it will be glorious. Then he and Charles can celebrate properly. He takes a cab instead of the subway, feeling luxurious, and decides to call his boyfriend. Charles is probably in the middle of something (when is he not?) but at least his assistant can take a message so Erik can make plans for their night.

To his surprise, Charles answers right away. “Erik! How did it go?”

Erik grins. “It was great. I remembered all the stats from the environmental survey, and I did include that bit from the—” and he starts coughing, hacking really, for almost two full minutes.

“I knew it! I knew you were getting sick. It’s peak flu season, and this year is a particularly nasty strain. Didn’t you take the medicine I put on the counter this morning?”

Sometimes it is not attractive when your boyfriend has multiple PhDs. “I’m fine. I think there’s just some dust in the cab.”

That earns him a dirty look from the cabbie in the mirror.

He can almost see Charles rolling his eyes, so he continues before Charles can say anything else. “I got the promotion.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! Long overdue, you’ll make an excellent head engineer. Your,” and Charles stops abruptly, then Erik hears him murmur something, to Armando probably, about their new drug trials in Rochester.

“Erik, love, are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, Armando just brought me something.”

Erik cleared his throat. “No problem. But listen, I thought we could celebrate, go out to dinner tonight. Are you free?”

“I ought to be done by eight, if I can get the lawyers out of here in a timely manner. Which, you know, takes doing when they bill me ten thousand dollars an hour.”

“Just set a timer and tell them they’re fired if they’re still talking when it goes off.”

Charles roars with laughter in his ear and Erik smiles to himself. “You can put Armando on if you need to run, I’ll leave the details with him.”

“You are a beautiful man, you know that? Dinner’s on me tonight.”

“See you later.”

“Bye, darling.”

Charles passes the phone over to Armando, and they decide on dinner at 8:30 at a new Spanish place in the Village, and Charles will pick Erik up from his apartment. Erik hangs up the phone and slouches back in the seat. He can’t wait to see Charles tonight. They haven’t been able to spend a lot of quality time together lately, and Charles has actually cancelled a few business meetings and dinners just to work around Erik’s new schedule. Oddly, it’s one of the sweetest things Charles has ever done for him. Charles runs a multi-billion dollar company and nine to five business hours don’t really apply. Emergencies demanding Charles’s personal attention happen frequently, as well as last-minute demands from his board that can require him to fly across the country within an hour of taking the call. Once, he had to leave in the middle of a play to fly to India to meet with a patent lawyer before a surprise deadline. And Erik truly doesn’t take it personally, because it isn’t about him. This is Charles’s job, and a huge part of his life. The company means a lot to him. It’s his father’s legacy and something Charles believes in. Which is why it means so much to him that Charles would prioritize Erik over people who are essential to Xavier Innovations, and probably none too pleased about being bumped from Charles’s schedule.

The cab takes a sharp right turn, and Erik looks out the window to see his own building drawing closer. He feels so tired. Last night, he broke the pattern and slept a full eight hours to make sure he was in good shape for the presentation today. Maybe his body hasn’t recovered enough sleep though. He tries to take a deep breath, and winds up hacking again. He frowns. It sounds bad; the kind of rattling cough you can feel in your lungs.

It’s fine, he tells himself as he the cab stops at his building. After he takes a nap, he’ll be fine. He’s just overworked and tired.

The next thing he knows, he’s waking up to the sound of someone cursing under their breath. It’s dark now and his face is crammed into the leather couch cushions. Erik thinks he must have fallen asleep on the couch when he sat down to take his shoes off. But he was so tired, he had to sit for just a minute. He shifts around, trying to move his face so he can breathe. It’s difficult to breathe, more difficult than it should be. He tries to inhale deeply and realizes he’s progressed from a cough to complete congestion. He’s wheezing and hacking and someone presses a plastic bottle into his hand.

He looks down. Orange juice. Probably from the bodega down the block. And he looks up into Charles’s face, smiling down at him.

“I’m sick.”

The smile grows. “Yes.”

“You brought me orange juice.”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Oh shit, I stood you up for dinner, didn’t I?”

“Also yes.”

Erik groans and forces himself to sit up. “I’m sorry. I just sat down for a second.”

“Erik, don’t be absurd, it’s fine.” Charles is trying to push him back down on the couch. “When you didn’t answer the phone, I guessed that you were feeling worse. So I went and got you some things before coming back here.”

There’s now an old knit blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but Erik ignores that in favor of taking a closer look at the coffee table. A take-out carton of soup, a baguette, a box of cookies, cough drops, two boxes of tissues, dried fruit snacks, some trashy tabloid magazines, and a massive fruit smoothie—Mango Tango, Erik’s favorite.

“And ice cream in the freezer, of course.”

Erik turns back to Charles, feeling completely overwhelmed. “You had to go to three different places to get all of that stuff.”

“Well, yes,” Charles ducks his head.

“It’s all my favorites.”

“I know. You have been sick before, I remember.”

Erik grabs Charles’s hand and holds it to his own heart. “Marry me,” he declares dramatically.

Charles barks with laughter, leaning forward to press a kiss to Erik’s sweaty forehead, and Erik grins. His boyfriend stretches before going to the kitchen, doubtless to retrieve more food and force it on Erik in his weakened state. He settles back into the couch, smiling, and wonders for a second why he feels strange that Charles didn’t say anything back. After all, it was just a joke, right?

 

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> So I've been a little under the weather for the last few days, and last night I wrote in a delirious fever state and tacked on like four thousand words of extra to this chapter... and I'm still sick and I have no way of knowing whether I ruined it or not. I guess we'll see. Love all the kudos and comments <3  
> 

Charles jerks awake, going from unconscious to completely alert and hungover in the span of about one second. It’s unpleasant. He groans as his head starts throbbing and his stomach starts making some ominous rumblings.  

“Good morning, sunshine!”

Tony’s bright, chipper voice is like sandpaper in his eardrums.

“Go ‘way,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“That is not the Charles Xavier I know. The Charles I know used to shake off hangovers like they were nothing! Over the beaches, over the landings, over the fields, onward! Going soft on me?”

“Tony, I drank enough last night to intoxicate an entire fraternity house. Speak softly or shut up.”

“I have doughnuts and electrolytes.”

“God bless you.”

Charles falls out of the guest bed and drags himself through the halls to the open kitchen/living room area. There’s an elaborate breakfast spread arranged on a banquet table, and Tony himself is fiddling with an intimidating espresso machine in the kitchen. Despite the array of expensive equipment and/or one-of-a-kind inventions made by Tony’s own hands, nothing is truly off-limits in his life. Except his espresso machine. No one is allowed to touch the espresso machine without Tony’s verbal permission or electronic signature. That thing cost him fifty large, is the only one of its kind, and took two years to build to his exact specifications. And Tony only made one modification to it himself. That is unheard of in Starkworld. The machine takes up an entire counter on its own, and Tony had to rebuild the pipes in the kitchen so he could even install it. Apparently, super fancy giant espresso beasts require their own plumbing line.

And it’s worth it. If Charles could come here every day for coffee, he would never use his own kitchen or Starbucks or the outrageously expensive indie cafe on the corner ever again. Charles could afford to buy one of his own, but Tony refuses to tell him where he bought it. He only hints at its origin, saying that the mystery helps build the legend around it.

Charles drops himself into a wood and metal stool at the kitchen counter and leans on his arm, watching Tony manipulate the angry, hissing, red and chrome beast. It spits steam at him, snarling until Tony nudges the pitcher of milk into just the right angle, and then it purrs contentedly, producing dense yet airy foam. As soon as the milk is frothed, Tony whips the pitcher away and rinses the wand quickly before milk scum builds up. Next he packs finely-ground beans into the dispenser and locks it into place, scooting two rounded shot glasses underneath to catch the fine threads of black gold that drizzle out.

Tony layers the milk and the foam in a white ceramic mug carefully, then dumps the shots on top one after the other, and slides it down the counter to Charles. “Order up,” he grins.

Charles gives him a round of applause. “You know, if the whole genius billionaire playboy philanthropist thing doesn’t work out, you could be a barista. Or go into dinner theater. This is a damn fine cup of coffee.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony starts clearing everything away. “Thanks, Agent Cooper, but I wouldn’t share Sabina with the masses. It’d be downright blasphemous.”

“I still can’t believe you named that thing Sabina. It’s way too masculine for such a pretty name.”

“You keep your trap shut about my lady, Charles, or I’m repossessing that coffee.”

Charles holds his hands up in surrender, then turns his attention to the coffee. God, it’s better than sex. Okay, at least better than most sex. He really wishes he wasn’t hungover so he could fully appreciate this cappuccino in all its extensive glory.

Tony drops a plate of fruit and doughnuts in front of him, followed by a large glass of neon green liquid and a pitcher of water. Charles wrinkles his nose at it.

“You need carbs and electrolytes and water. And vitamins. You need all of the things, missy.”

Charles sighs and looks around, his eyes glancing over a clock on the far wall, then darting back to it. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit, why didn’t you tell me what time it was?” Charles scrambles out of his seat, but Tony’s hushing him before he makes it any farther.

“Charles, chill! I called Armando already. You don’t have anything going on this morning, and only like two appointments after the lunch hour. It’s fine. Eat, drink, take a breath. We’re going to go a few rounds in the gym too, you need to sweat the rest of the booze out of your system.”

Charles slowly drops back into his seat, feeling woozy and nauseated from the sudden adrenaline mixing with the caffeine and the alcohol still in the pit of his stomach.

“Eat something, seriously.”

Even though the last thing he wants to do is send more stuff into the mess in his stomach, he knows Tony is right. So he chokes down a decent breakfast, drinks enough fluids to drown Seabiscuit, and follows Tony down to his personal gym. Tony is really into boxing, one of the few phases he went through in his teenage years that stuck. He taught Charles a few basics, but Charles doesn’t really keep up with it. He’s more of a runner. But Tony is also right about sweating the alcohol out, so he lets Tony put him through the motions, and they don’t stop until they’re both pouring sweat and completely disgusting.

Charles aches all over, but it’s a good kind of discomfort. Usually, he does just enough physical exercise to meet the minimum requirements, not enough to build muscle or really test what his body can do. It feels good to push himself like this. And the endorphins are a nice bonus, especially after the last few days.

After a shower, he feels like himself again. Or his old self, not the moping broody Charles of late. There’s a change of clothes waiting for him on the guest bed. They’re his clothes, actually, he leaves some here for the rare nights he crashes with Tony.

He’s going to eat lunch with Tony and then head into the office for a few hours. In the meantime, Tony will secure what he promised the night before: Erik’s room number and a key. Charles is choosing plausible deniability and hasn’t asked how he’ll acquire the aforementioned items.

Charles should be out of the office by five o’clock at the absolute latest, and he plans to be at Erik’s door by six. He hasn’t changed or cancelled any of their reservations for the vacation, so they should still be set to go. He is going to do whatever it takes to win Erik back, and this morning, while Tony cheerfully kicked his ass around the boxing ring, he made some plans in his head, Big Gesture kind of plans. He hopes to do something special for Erik on their vacation, which means he also needs to apologize to Armando so his assistant can make some arrangements for him before they leave. If Erik for whatever reason doesn’t want to go any longer, he can probably do something at home, but he can’t see why Erik wouldn’t want to go. Hawaii was Erik’s idea in the first place; he’s never been before. Erik was thrilled like a little kid at the prospect of surfing and scuba diving and jet skis. Charles would much rather lay on the beach or take a drive to see the volcanoes or some of the indigenous species of the island, but Erik’s all about activity. And Charles thought it was adorable the way Erik’s face lit up when he talked about everything he wanted to do. So if it makes Erik happy, he’ll gladly make a fool of himself on a surfboard and get sunburn and flail around choking on salt water while Erik laughs at him.

Maybe thinking ahead to their vacation is a tad overconfident, but he just. He just needs them to get back to their normal, to get back to the life they had. These last four months were his fault, but he can admit that. He can also promise Erik that it won’t ever happen again, and that’s he stopped being such an enormous knob about marriage.

He doesn’t think Erik is going to want him to grovel, though he’s happy to do so if it will help. Erik just wanted them to be on the same page with the issue of marriage. Erik didn’t fall out of love with him or decide he wanted someone else or something. They had an argument that got out of hand, and granted, he was an enormous knob for months, but he truly believes Erik will forgive him.

Charles takes a deep breath and unravels the mess that is his tie, focusing on his image in the mirror to try again. He looks like a human again, so that’s good. No more bloodshot eyes and dark purple shadows or sallow skin.

Erik is going to forgive him.

Deep down, he knows with a terrifying certainty that Erik loves him, the way he knows things like secretly Tony has the biggest heart of anyone but refuses to admit it, or that his sister will always be a little bit wild and forever searching for something, or that Charles, despite his calm unruffled exterior, is actually deeply insecure when it comes to his personal life. He knows that Erik is going to take him back because he loves Charles too much to give up, but it won’t be easy to convince him.

“Chin up, old boy,” Charles murmurs under his breath. “Once more unto the breach.”

 

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Five hours later, he’s standing in front of Erik’s hotel room, trying to remember that elusive moment of clarity. How was he so sure Erik would take him back? He’s fucked up so badly—no. There is no room for doubt. He needs to believe in himself, in both of them, to fix this. They love each other. They’re happy together, and they should be together again.

Charles takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders. “You can do this,” he whispers to himself. He knocks on the door.

Erik doesn’t exactly look happy to see him but Charles soldiers on, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind him without Erik’s permission.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out before Erik can even say anything. Erik just looks resigned to this, like he’s not going to change his mind about this idiotic breaking up business.

“Erik, I can’t even… I don’t know how to make you understand how much I regret everything I did and said, and how much I hate myself for doing that to you. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t really cover it. You… you made yourself so vulnerable with that lovely proposal and I thanked you by breaking your heart. And I kept ripping out the stitches by refusing to give you an answer, yet drawing away from you at the same time and—and acting like a complete bastard. Erik, I’m so truly sorry. I would do anything to take back all the ways I’ve been hurting you these last four months. And I—”

“Stop, Charles.” Erik swallows, staring down at the floor. “Just tell me why. I don’t understand. I thought—I always thought we’d get married when we were ready. And I thought you wanted that, but if you don’t—”

“—I do, I promise I want that,” Charles cuts in. “All that rubbish about the institution of marriage and its oppressive history and property trade—well, it’s not wrong, but we talked ages ago about how it’s different for gay couples when it’s a matter of having equal rights, and most importantly, that gay people should have the choice whether they believe in marriage or not.”

Erik twitches. “I remember. I remember because that was one of those moments where we were exactly on the same page with something that was so important, and I knew, or thought I knew, that we could last. Tell me how we got from there to you claiming marriage is meaningless.”

Charles has to look away for a minute. “I can’t… I can’t say anything that will make what I did okay. Because I lied to you, essentially, about our future. And, and I do love you, Erik, and ever since the first conversation we had about marriage, I saw that as the next step in our relationship.” He makes himself meet Erik’s gaze. “When I was growing up, all the married couples I saw were poor examples. They didn’t love each other or often respect each other. Marriage was an arrangement, you know? Something that people did for image or for money or as a political advantage. My mother’s been married three times, and I’m not sure she loved any of her husbands. She did it for the status or a fortune, not for love. So I didn’t have a lot of respect for marriage and I thought, despite the pressure I would surely be under, that I wouldn’t end up married. But,” Charles felt his mouth go dry and he pressed on, “but then I met you. And the concept of forever seemed possible. I could picture being with you for a long time, my whole life even when I was brave enough to consider it, and that was completely new to me. When you asked me that time, when I was in the middle of that attempted buyout, and it caught me off guard, I think I was so stunned that it was happening. We had talked in the abstract, and suddenly it was real and right there and I froze. Then we just left it there, and I had plenty of time to psych myself out about the whole idea of it. I kept thinking, maybe he’s thought better of it or maybe he’s realized it wouldn’t be right for us. And all of that was sort of floating around in my head the night you proposed on the yacht.”

“How could you think I didn’t mean it? You were the one who said that spur of the moment proposal didn’t count! So I thought I had to do the whole build-up and formal ask for you to take me seriously. Then you fucking said no—” Erik cuts himself off, pacing to the other side of the room.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” Charles pleaded. “I’ve realized I’m possibly a bit more insecure about us than I thought.”

Incredulous, Erik opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and Charles waves him at him to hush. “I know it’s irrational and stupid, but I can’t make my insecurities logical, Erik. You’re just… you. Smart and successful and mouth-watering gorgeous, and you’re so sharp and funny. And I’m just me. I have some things going for me, I’m not fishing here, but I’m high maintenance and I come with a lot of baggage. So I, sometimes in the back of my head, I wonder why you put up with me and I think you could do better if you ever felt like it.”

Erik is quiet for a few minutes until Charles finally gets the nerve to look at him again.

Charles can’t read anything from his face.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” he asks when Charles is brave enough to look into his eyes.

He nods.

“You’re more of an idiot than Cassidy.”

“Ouch!” Charles replies instinctively. “Wait, what?”

“I thought you weren’t fishing. So I’m not going to repeat all of the things I said about you when I proposed because, honestly, I’m not sure right now if you deserve them.”

Charles exhales. “That’s fair.”

“Give me a little credit, Charles. I’m smart, yes, that’s one of the things you love about me? So maybe trust me when I say nice things about you, and trust that I’m smart enough to know you and love you _because_ I know you. Do you realize that by being insecure about this, it’s actually kind of insulting to me? Like you think that I’m shallow enough to break up with someone because I would have to work at a relationship,” Erik snaps.

He flushes. Erik’s right, he’s been a complete ass. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

The other man sighs. “Charles, I… I can’t go through this again. This is important to me. Maybe marriage isn’t right for everyone, but it’s something I’ve always wanted. I still love you, but—”

Charles hurries to interrupt. “I promise you won’t have to, Erik, I’m so, so sorry. If you’ll… if you decide to come back, I won’t put you through this again. I want very much to marry you. We _will_ get married, Erik, I swear.” Charles hesitates, considering the wisdom of what’s currently floating through his head. “You know I’ve dated quite a few people, but… but you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to picture being with for the rest of my life. I love you too much to give you up, and I’m not too proud to beg you to come back to me.”

Erik looks at him then, his eyes heavy and melancholy, and Charles feels another wave of guilt and anger at himself wash over him. “Erik, please,” he whispers.

Erik gives him an uncertain half-smile. “Do you remember the night we met?”

As if he would forget that, no matter how much he’d had to drink. “Of course,” he answers.

Erik smiles absently at the floor. “I think I was a little bit in love with you from the very start. The first thing I ever said to you?”

Charles swallows. “I remember. Erik… you weren’t the only one who fell in love at first sight.”

Up to this point, Erik is with him, but at that, he rolls his eyes. “Right. That’s why you kept seeing other people for almost a year after we met.”

It hits him like a punch to the stomach. He never thought Erik would hold that against him. “That’s not fair. You, you know why I was like that.”

“I don’t,” Erik says quietly. “At the beginning, I knew how I felt about you and decided it was the worth the risk. To wait until you either got tired of everyone else or tired of me. I knew I had to try. I hoped—sometimes I thought you felt the same way I did, but until you told me you’d stopped seeing the others, I didn’t know for sure.”

“I did, Erik, I felt the same way,” Charles insisted, “I was, I was just so scared. For the first couple of months, I lied to myself about the depth of my feelings for you, then I told myself I was playing it safe by not committing… then I couldn’t pretend that I actually wanted to be with anyone but you. I knew I was falling in love and it scared me so much. If I fell in love with you, you could hurt me. If we were exclusive and committed, then it was serious, and terrifying. I knew once I admitted how I felt, how much I already loved you, it would change everything. That every day we spent together would increase the amount of pain I would be in when you left me. And I was convinced that you would leave me, eventually. I got used to it over time, used to us, but that fear was still lingering in the back of my mind. Erik, I’m so sorry I let it get this bad. I let that insecurity ruin things so much that you left me.” Charles paused. “Which is rather ironic, actually.”

A little half smile works across Erik’s face at that.

“But I don’t think that any more,” Charles hurries on. “I, I trust you. I trust that you love me enough to stay, even when things are hard. And I know we want the same things, the same life together. I…” he trails off. There’s so much more he could, maybe should, say. But there’s really only one thing to say, one thing that should mean everything.

“I love you.”

Erik grins, and oh, it’s finally one of the classic cocky grins that Charles adores, that he hasn’t seen in a long time, and he wants to collapse in relief at its return.

“I know,” Erik says, that smart ass grin widening.

Laughter bursts out of Charles unexpectedly, and he socks Erik in the shoulder. “Oh, you bastard! I can’t believe you Solo-ed me in such a serious moment!”

Erik is still grinning. “Well, that’s the time to do it, isn’t it?”

“Unbelievable,” Charles says, smiling. His hand is still resting on Erik’s shoulder and he doesn’t want to move it. It’s the most they’ve touched in ages.

The cocky grin shifts into something a little smaller and more intimate as Erik looks at him. Then he steps forward and pulls Charles into his arms, resting his chin on Charles’s head. Charles sinks into him, screwing up his eyes so he doesn’t cry, _pathetically_ , at the simple hug. But Erik’s holding him, they’re holding each other after months, and he’s been so touch-starved that this simple hug is making him shiver with warmth.

“I love you,” Erik says gently into Charles’s hair.

And now, damnit, he _is_ crying. It’s just a few tears, hopefully they’ll be gone by the time Erik steps back. Charles just clutches Erik tighter.

Finally, Charles releases him and steps back. Erik’s face is still soft with warmth as he looks at Charles, which is far more than he deserves. And he’s going to push it even further.

“Will you come home with me?” Charles asks in a rush. When Erik frowns and opens his mouth, Charles continues before he can say anything. “Please? Please, Erik, I can’t sleep without you another night, I hate that you’re in this stupid place. I’ll sleep on the couch for a while if you want, I just need you back in the flat, please.”

“Shh, Charles, it’s okay, I was going to say I wanted to come back tonight. It’s alright, I want to be home, I don’t want to spend another night here either,” Erik says, rubbing his hands up and down Charles’s arms.

“Thank god,” he says, wilting a little in relief. “Okay, let’s just go now. I can send someone tomorrow to bring your things and check out.” Charles starts tugging on Erik’s arm, but Erik remains where he is.

“Hold on, just give me ten minutes and I can have everything packed up. I don’t have that much here, and all of your employees, Armando included, will quit if you call them in to do personal errands for you on December 23rd.”

Charles freezes. “Oh god, you’re right. I completely lost track of the days. Damn, tomorrow—”

“—we have to drive upstate,” Erik finishes grimly. “I hadn’t forgotten. Of course, the last week I believed I was finally going to get out of it for the first time in four years, but Satan has other plans for me.”

With reluctance, Erik lets go of him and walks around the room to grab various pieces of clothing and toss them onto the bed. Charles, out of habit and without even thinking about it, starts folding them into neat, crisp squares.

“If by other plans, you mean our getting back together, then I guess that makes me a godless, Satan-loving sodomite. Which means I’ll have to drop the libel suit against _The Sun_ , what a shame.”

Erik snorts. “I was actually referring to Sharon when I said Satan. You say tomato, I say tomato.”

Charles laughs to himself as Erik disappears into the bathroom, reappearing a few seconds later with the bag Charles packed for him. Erik starts shoving the piles of clothes into another bag while Charles watches.

“Either way, there’s no getting out of the Xavier Christmas Eve Soirée except untimely death, no matter what you call my mother. You ought to know by now that she thrives on chaos; calling her Satan only makes her stronger.”

“Too true,” Erik agrees, zipping up the bag. “It makes me feel better about it though.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Charles agrees, flicking through his phone.

Erik comes up and peers over his shoulder, then huffs, “No, do not order a car, we can just catch a cab in front of the hotel.”

“Erik, the whole point of paying for a car service is so that I have a car available whenever I need one, twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.”

“But we’ll have to wait, and you aren’t going to get any of your usual drivers tonight anyway, and it’s late. We’re in one of the busiest parts of Midtown; it’ll take us one try to get a cab,” Erik counters.

Charles wants to argue back, as he has a car service on call, and they won’t wait more than twenty minutes for a reliable, safe, clean car which _he’s already paid for_. But he’s not about to argue with Erik about anything for a good long while, much less about something so trivial. So he concedes gracefully, and gestures Erik through the door ahead of him.

Erik starts down the hall and hits the button for the elevator. “Wonder what else I can get away with while you’re on this epic guilt trip,” he muses.

Charles scoffs. “Another comment like that and I’ll tell my mother you’re looking for a new financial advisor. You won’t escape her for hours.”

“Idle threats, Charles. Anyone with a net worth of less than ten million hardly needs a financial advisor, according to Satan.”

Charles opens his mouth to say that’s not exactly true anymore, now is it, as Erik will be worth billions once he marries Charles… but he bites his tongue. It’s too soon to be making those kinds of jokes, he thinks. And it might fall a bit too close to all of Erik’s sore spots about his future in-laws. Sharon has long argued, often right in front of Erik, that the only reason Erik is with Charles is for his money. His mother is talented, he has to admit that. She manages to insult both of them with a single sentence. Sharon of course believes that no one is really gay, it’s just a choice wild young people make in fits of teenage rebellion, and the ones who stick with it do so because they enjoy getting a reaction out of people. Sometimes when she expounds on that theory, he thinks it might have been a mistake to wear the pink feather boa and genuine diamond tiara with beautifully contoured makeup to her forty-fifth birthday, when he was twenty and passionately in love with the exploration and overcompensation phase of his freshly-revealed sexuality. He’d only been openly gay for about two years and he was still set on being “loud and proud”, so to speak, about his identity. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but he probably took five years off his mother’s life as she stared him down from the head of the table, her left eyelid twitching every time he adjusted the tiara that had been a family heirloom for three hundred years.

The lift doors open, jarring him out of his thoughts, and he and Erik shuffle inside. It starts downward, dozens of floors to go, and suddenly, Erik drops his head to Charles’s shoulder with a sigh.

“I missed you,” he admits quietly. “I even missed our stupid fights about cars and your mother and whose favorite deli is better.”

“Mine, obviously,” Charles says instinctively before he can stop himself, and winces. He really needs to watch himself.

Erik huffs a soft laugh. “Just like that.”

And Charles relaxes. He turns so he can carefully inhale the smell of Erik’s hair and closes his eyes.

When they finally arrive home, they’re both so exhausted by the late hour and the emotional storm they’ve weathered that they’re literally stumbling over each other trying to walk in the apartment. Both of them are too tired for more than the occasional “door?” “locked it” or “where are the…” “floor, over there” and then they’re tripping into bed.

Charles collapses into the mattress with low groan usually associated with different bedroom activities. Erik is in a similar state, already pushing his pillow into his preferred lump shape under his head. Charles is seconds from a blissful state of unconsciousness before he remembers he was supposed to sleep on the couch, he told Erik he would. But at that moment, moving from the bed to couch, even to keep his promise to Erik, seems as insurmountable as Everest, and without another thought, he’s fast asleep.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 

If Erik sees one more cluster of spiky white tree branches in a vase, he’s going to scratch his eyes out. He’s also annoyed that his sunglasses are packed away in the bag he uses as a carry-on for flights, there is way too much sparkly silver and white in here.

Christmas is supposed to be cheerful, and fun, not something so pristine and chic that Martha Stewart would find a little boring. And yes, Erik is Jewish, and this holiday is really not for his people, but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the secular holidays. Christmas these days means being with people you love and doing nice things for others and a general sense of good cheer and the consumption of disgusting holiday fare that only tradition excuses. It means watching _Love Actually_ about twelve times and staying up late to finish wrapping presents. Usually, Erik enjoys Christmas almost as much as Charles does. This year… well. This year has been a little different.

Thankfully, Erik is used to Sharon Xavier’s parties by now, and he came prepared. He ran out to the deli this morning before Charles woke up and bought enough for a picnic feast in the car, and some snacks for later. In addition to serving some of the worst hors d'oeuvres and canapes Erik’s ever seen, Sharon takes a perverse pleasure in featuring non-kosher food at every event since she met Erik. He has a feeling that if it weren’t for him, Sharon would never serve an uncouth meat like bacon, appallingly common. But ever since Charles first brought Erik home, it’s been bacon here, bacon there, bacon-wrapped scallops, bacon everywhere.

Charles has fought with Sharon about it at least four times, and she always insists that he’s exaggerating and there are plenty of other options, like the caviar and toast points or the lobster kebabs. Oh, neither of those are kosher? How interesting! Erik told Charles to drop it, this is why man invented granola bars and drive-thru. He’s dreading the day when he has introduce his mother to Sharon. Edie certainly won’t let it go so easily, and will probably ask Sharon if she’s trying to starve Erik to death or if she simply enjoys chewing on filthy pig fat that much.

“Nothing screams stuck-up WASP quite like Sharon Xavier, does it?” a voice interrupts his thoughts.

Erik smiles as he turns to face the familiar woman. He’d been hoping Raven would attend this year. Last year had been disappointingly free of inappropriate jokes about the phallic shapes of the appetizers and whisper fights with Sharon in her absence.

“Careful, that’s my boyfriend’s mom you’re talking about,” he replied. And hey, what the hell, it’s Christmas and he’s had a few drinks, so he pulls Raven into a hug. He likes Charles’s sister very much and he’s been at this awful party too long without a friendly face.

“Wow, easy there tiger, you’re going to crush me,” Raven wriggles free and smoothes her dress over her stomach with care.

Erik rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, we’re practically family, hugs go with the territory.”

“Sure, Aunt Mildred. How long have you been standing here anyway? Shouldn’t Charles be here to fight off the piranhas?”

“Too long. And yes. And I’m out of alcohol.”

Raven winced. “Yikes. Here,” she flagged down a server and snagged a glass of wine, tucking a twenty into his hand with a thank you. She nudged the wine glass into Erik’s hand.

“Wait, you need one too.” Erik reached for the tray, but Raven waved him off.

“No, I’m fine, really.”

Erik snorted. “There’s no way you’re fine unless you brought a flask. And why would you do that when the one thing Sharon does well is serve booze?”

Raven smiled. “What can I say, I’m picky.”

“Suit yourself,” Erik shrugged and took a sip. Mmm, a rich heavy merlot, perfect.

After he finishes the glass and Raven fetches him another, he’s feeling much more at ease with the world. “This is great wine,” he tells Raven happily. “I love Sharons—” he started laughing at the same time Raven’s eyes went comically wide. “I meant I love Sharon’s wine. Good grief, your face.”

Raven shook her head slowly. “God, Erik. How much did you have to drink before I came over?”

“Enough to appreciate the color scheme,” he paused, a giggle escaping. “Get it? Because everything’s white, there isn’t any color.”

“Oh my god,” Raven muttered. “You are toast. Where’s Charles?”

Erik waved his hand, taking another sip. “I have no idea. You know how it is; he gets cornered by some rich jerk who wants inside industry information for his stock portfolio, and the next thing I know, it’s hours later and Charles is either blackout drunk in the second-floor study with Tony, or he’s surrounded by fat men in his suits who are trying to show him pictures of their daughters.”

“Things have not changed at all since we were teenagers.”

“Tony brings that out in people.”

“Charles could do a lot worse for friends than Tony. Plus, it beats the year Sharon invited three different men to introduce to Charles while you were here.”

“Oh the first year Charles brought me home for Christmas? Yes, what a special memory that was.”

“Didn’t one guy offer to blow him in the coatroom?”

“Yeah, when I went to get a drink. I could actually hear him from the bar.”

Raven shuddered. “Gross. Be classy, wait until the boyfriend is out of earshot.”

“Right?” Erik polished off his glass of wine, glaring at the back of Sharon’s dyed hair all the way across the room.

When he looked back to Raven, she was studying him with narrowed eyes. “I bet I could ask you anything right now.”

“In vino veritas,” he sang back. Okay. Maybe he has had too much to drink.

“So, is my brother crazy good in bed, or what?”

Erik lapsed into a coughing fit, trying desperately to clear his throat while Raven laughed.

“What? I’ve always wanted to know.”

“I’m just grateful that wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Erik manages to get out between coughs.

“I’m adopted, so it’d only be like, pseudo-incest,” Raven says thoughtfully.

“No, it would be terrifyingly real.”

“Quit stalling! He is, isn’t he? Is he, like, kinky, or—”

“For fuck’s sake, Raven! He’s your brother, do you actually want to think about his sex life?”

“I don’t need a play-by-play about how he likes his blowjobs or whatever, but c’mon, he has to be good in bed. I don’t know how you’d put up with this circus sideshow otherwise,” she gestured vaguely around her.

“And, well, no offense, but he’s slept with everyone, so there’s no way he hasn’t had enough practice,” she continues.

“Practice does not make perfect.”

“Wait,” Raven pauses, “are you saying he’s bad in bed?”

“No!”

“Erik!” Raven whines.

“Fine. Fine!” Erik threw up his hands, just barely clinging on to the wine glass he was still holding. “He’s fantastic in bed. Unbelievable. Honestly, you can’t even imagine. The best sex of my life. There, are you happy?”

“No, I’m a little jealous, actually, I would love to have a great sex life.”

“It’s not great, it’s fucking transcendent. Like a religious experience.”

“You’re comparing your sex life to religion? I’m going to need more details.”

“I need to stop talking, Charles is going to kill me.”

“Please, I’m loving the drunk version of Erik. Tell me more. So, in what way? Is he bendy? No gag reflex?”

“This is easily the worst conversation a woman has ever started about her brother. No, it’s not like that. I mean… yes, to be honest, it disturbs me that you knew that.” Erik takes a deep breath and tries to find the willpower to turn the off-switch on his mouth. But the thing about word vomit is that it’s nearly impossible to stop once you get going.

“Okay, I know this sounds sappy and awful, but the reason it’s so good is because I’m in love with him. Sex can be good, even great, with just anybody, but when you’re in love… when you’re in love, you start playing in a different league.”

“You’re right, that was sappy and awful. I kind of want to kill you and then myself. That’s so sickening romantic I want to hurl.” Raven mimes vomiting.

Erik sighs. “I know. Love turns you into a huge fucking sap.”

“Yeah, really Erik, what have you done with my brother? Slutty, commitment-phobic, wild child Charles was way more fun. Sure, he’s like, super happy all the time since he met you, but it is useless taking him to Amsterdam now. It’s all, ‘no Raven, we’re not doing drugs,’ and ‘absolutely no hookers, there’s a lovely chap at work I could set you up with,’ and ‘I think we’ve had enough to drink,’ and ‘yes I know I used to dance in cages and strip at clubs, but not anymore, Erik doesn’t like it.’”

Raven actually does a fair imitation of Charles, with the English accent and the hand gestures. Still.

“Thanks very much, Raven, it’s nice to know you wish Charles would dump me so you two could go wild at clubs,” Erik retorts, his voice just a little too sharp to be sarcastic.

Raven groans and gives his shoulder a half-hearted shove. “Don’t be stupid. Charles is so much happier now that he’s with you. He’d be devastated if you ever left him. And I can’t take Tony anywhere, last time I had to bribe a cop in Brussels so he didn’t get arrested,” she stops abruptly, “although I can’t— I’m not going this year anyway, so it doesn’t matter. You know I’m just teasing, Erik, you and Charles are so great together.”

The words are bubbling up in his throat, and he wants to tell her. He just doesn’t know if Charles will want to tell her himself or maybe wait a while longer before they start telling people. Fuck it. Raven can keep a secret, and Charles shouldn’t have left him alone with so much delicious wine if he wanted Erik to behave.

“We’re engaged,” he finally bursts out, in a hushed tone, “Charles and I are going to get married.”

Her mouth actually drops open as she stares at him. It’s a little funny.

“Wait, what? Shut up. Shut up!”

“What is this, 2003? I’m serious, we’re getting married.”

Raven is still slack-jawed with shock. “You talked my brother Charles, king of commitment phobia, into marriage?”

“First of all, I didn’t talk him into anything. We’re both adults, capable of making our own decisions. We both want this. And second, Charles and I have been together for five years, he abdicated that crown a long time ago.”

“Ah. You’re right, I’m terrible,” Raven cringes. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised. But seriously, congratulations! That’s great news, I’m really happy for you two. Oh my god, I can’t believe Charles is getting married. How long have you been engaged? Wait, which one of you proposed? Oh, is there a ring?”

Awkward. Erik cleared his throat. “I proposed, a few months ago, and—”

“Months? Hold on, you’ve been engaged for months and you’re just now telling me?”

“No, Charles… agreed only yesterday.”

“...oh.” Raven frowns. “Ohhh. Is that why you two have been fighting?”

“Charles told you about that?”

“Not exactly. He’s just sounded a little off the last few months, wasn’t gushing about you as much as he usually does. Figured you guys were fighting about something, but I didn’t know it was this huge.”

“It’s…” Erik sighs. He’s not going into all this. After all, it just happened, and it’s not something that needs to be shared at all. What happened was between him and Charles, and as long as they both know how they feel, that’s all that matters. “It was a little complicated, but we talked everything out. This is something we both want, and we’re excited about it.”

“That’s great,” Raven gives him a small, genuine smile. “Have you talked about the wedding at all?”

No, they’d worked too hard just to get to the engaged part, haven’t had time for much else.

“Not really, why?”

“Just curious,” she shrugs, her smile turning into a smirk. “You know Sharon is going to butt into every tiny detail of wedding planning, right?”

Erik groans. “I’m trying not to think about it, please don’t remind me. I keep hoping that her deep hatred of me will have her boycott the wedding.”

“That’s a nice dream, Erik, but no chance it’s happening, even though you aren’t a lovely little socialite. Sharon has been planning Charles’s wedding for decades. And since Charles is too weak to tell her to fuck off, she’s going to be as involved as she possibly can.”

“Fuck me.”

“Exactly. Oh! Oh my god.” Raven says out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Erik, I love you. Seriously, the best bro-in-law a girl could hope to have. You have _divine_ timing. This is perfect; Sharon will be so distracted with the wedding she won’t even notice me!”

“Notice you doing what? Raven, what’s going on?”

Raven pauses, then takes a deep breath. “Well, in the name of sharing huge life news...um. I’m pregnant.”

“...what.”

“Knocked up. Bun in the oven. My Eggo is preggo, baby on board.”

“Very tasteful.”

“Henceforth I shall groweth colossal in the fecundity of progeny.”

“Much better.” Erik takes a minute to breathe. “Wow. Wow, this is… huge seems like an understatement. I’m guessing you haven’t told Charles yet.”

“No,” Raven scowled. “He’s going to be so… ugh, all disapproving big brother about this.”

“Why?”

Raven looks down at her shoes. “Uh. Because I’m going to do this as a solo act. The father—scratch that, he is not a father—the sperm donor has no interest in me, anymore, or the tiny little person who’s going to have half of his DNA. And that’s fine, I’d rather do this on my own than with someone like that. I mean, I didn’t even ask him for anything, just told him about it, and he said he wanted nothing to do with it. So screw him, I’m going to be a kick-ass mom, what do I need with him?”

“Of course you will. And I’m here for you, whatever you need. And Charles will be too, you know that.”

“He’s going to be mad that there’s no father.”

“Don’t be stupid, you know how he gets about babies, all melted goo. No, he’s just going to worry about you being on your own all the way out in LA. He’ll be happy for you.”

“Maybe.”

“Looks like it’s going to be a big year for both of us.”

Raven smiled. “Yeah, it really is. Oo, dibs on being Charles’s best man!”

“You can fight that out with Tony, I’m not playing referee.”

“You’re useless to me,” Raven grumbled. “You guys aren’t going to get married in the next eight or so months, right? Because I refuse to look like a whale in your wedding pictures.”

“Whales are noble creatures, don’t be a snob. No, there’s no way we could pull a wedding together that quickly, even if we wanted to.”

“Good. You won’t tell Charles, will you? I want to tell him myself.”

“Raven…”

“Just for a little while!”

“I don’t keep things from him. And you can’t put it off much longer, how far along are you?”

“About three months. Please?”

“You’ve got a week. I’m not lying to Charles.”

“I repeat, useless to me.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

It’s nearly ten, the glorious hour Charles promised they could leave at, and Erik is trying not to stare at his watch too obviously by the dessert table. Raven left a while ago to try and find Tony to play a game she claims isn’t a drinking game, but that they used to play at boring grown-up parties all the time when they were young. Erik made her swear she would send Charles his way if she ran across him. After all, there’s only so much wine he can drink before he’s famished, and he doesn’t trust any of the food here. He is so making Charles drive them through a twenty-four hour McDonald’s on the way home.

“Ah. Erik. You’re here.”

By supreme force of will alone, Erik does not jump a foot in the air or shriek like a baby. He, maybe, shivers just a little as that awful voice slithers across his ears. Hey, if the devil walked up to you and spoke your name, you’d be shaking in your boots too. Give a guy a break.

He turns around to meet the empty ice-colored eyes of his future mother-in-law. She wore a fitted burgundy sheath dress, probably Ralph Lauren if he had to guess, the conservative designer is one of Sharon’s favorites. Her dyed blonde hair is scraped back in a severe chignon and she must have had a recent “spa” treatment because she has absolutely no expression on her face, despite the sneer he can tell she wants to display. But hey, there are a lot of annoying downsides to botox.

“Hello, Sharon. Merry Christmas,” Erik replies, clutching his blessedly-full wine glass.

“I admit, I wasn’t sure if I would see you or not. Charles was a touch vague on the phone last week.”

The thing with Sharon is that he can never tell if she’s actually omniscient (like the devil), or if she just manages to strike it lucky almost all of the time. He knows that Charles barely speaks to her and only calls her when he can’t avoid it, and he certainly doesn’t confide in her. Therefore, she absolutely couldn’t know about the fight or that he and Charles nearly broke up. All the evidence points to her being Satan.

“Yes, well… I’m here. Just like the last three Christmases.”

“Hm.”

Erik swallows nervously. What he would give for just one holiday without talking to Sharon. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Ha,” Sharon scoffs. “The understatement of your life.”

Well. It’s about what he expected she thought of him. But usually she’s a lot more restrained. Sharon is the queen of passive-aggression, she normally isn’t so open about how repulsive she finds Erik. He eyes her, noting the red blotchy cheeks and the slight sway of her body. Shit, Sharon’s drunk. Normally she’s on a constant low-key buzz through the day, but she never gets “sloppy”, as she calls it.

Sharon takes another long draught from her squat glass filled with dark liquor, probably whiskey, and her mouth thins as she looks at him. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep your claws in Charles for so long. The first year he brought you home was surprising enough, but I knew you were just another flavor of the month. Yet here we are. You’ve outlasted all the others, and we both know there were a lot of others, and look what you’ve accomplished. You live in the lap of luxury in one of the most exclusive penthouses in Manhattan. You have no further need to work to support yourself, and no living expenses, anything you could want just a telephone call away. And you have my son.” She reaches out and clutches his arm. “ _My_ son, the billionaire, the CEO and owner of a Fortune 500 company before he was thirty, the most eligible man in New York, who’s thirty-ninth in the line of succession in the United Kingdom. He could be the Prime Minister if he wanted. You really think you deserve to be with my son? You have no family, no political connections, and no social standing besides being Charles’s… partner,” the last word drips from her mouth with distaste. “Your shared perversion aside, you have nothing in common. You come from nothing, you _are_ —”

“Mother.”

Erik has never heard Charles’s voice sound so cold, or threatening. Even when Charles has been angry with Erik, his voice has never sounded like this. Truth be told, it sends a shiver down his spine.

“Let go of his arm.”

Erik has almost forgotten Sharon’s pointed nails digging into his forearm. The awful venom she was spewing took most of his attention. He feels alarmingly numb, and he isn’t sure if he has full control over his body. He’s either a moment away from passing out or breaking down in tears, both of which would be mortifying at the current time and place.

Sharon releases him and takes a step back, her expression still bitter, yet cautious.

Charles steps between him and Sharon and takes both of his hands, and leans in close to speak to him. “Go and grab your coat, we’re leaving. I’m so sorry you had to listen to that. You know I love you, and nothing she said matters. I’ll take care of this, don’t worry. Wait for me in the car.” Charles brushes a light kiss over his lips.

Erik swallows, his throat feeling tight and his eyes prickling with tears he’s trying to blink back. “Charles…”

“You don’t look well, I don’t want you to have to endure any more of this,” Charles says softly. “Go on.”

Erik feels like a coward, but he doesn’t know how much longer his composure will hold. He nods and flees toward the foyer where their driver will be waiting.

 

As soon as Erik’s left the room, Charles turns back toward Sharon. “Mother—”

“I’m only trying to look out for you, Charles. I want the best for you, and he—”

“Don’t you dare interrupt me.”

Sharon catches her breath, and takes another step back, looking outraged.

Charles feels empty inside. Before he heard what she said to Erik, he might have felt guilty for insulting her. Now he has no sympathy left.

“You may have given birth to me, but you have done nothing else my entire life to deserve being called a mother. You let a team of au pairs and housekeepers raise me when you couldn’t be bothered to do so, and you did the same to Raven. You have never cared about my interests or my dreams, and instead you tried to force me to pursue what you felt were ‘suitable’ goals. You claim to be tolerant and progressive for the sake of the current vogue in society, but you have never accepted what I am or approved of any of the men I’ve dated. My whole life, you told me I had to be this or that to be worthy of our family, to live up to your expectations. If I failed in any way, you didn’t hesitate to tell me so or express your disgust. And I have never been anything but respectful to you, despite your utter lack of regard for my feelings, or any of the people around you.”

Charles pauses to take a breath. His hands are shaking with fury as he remembers what she said to Erik. “That ends now. I will treat you as you treat me. After what you said to Erik, I have no reason to treat you with anything other than contempt. You are obsessed with status and bloodlines and wealth and connections, and you have yet to realize that your time is finished. Your kind is dying out, thank god, and your opinions are worth less than your chemically-fried dye job. You brag about worth, yet what have you done with your life besides inherit your family money and marry my father—for the short time he could stand you. You have lived a life of idleness and greed and selfishness. You claim that someone like Erik could never deserve me because I have a lot of money and a company and a meaningless title in Britain. I have the name Xavier, which continues to bring me more shame the longer you use it as your own, despite the fact that your marriage to my father ended twenty years ago and you’ve married twice since then.”

People around them have dropped the pretense of politeness and are now staring avidly, which Sharon has noticed, judging by the rising purple color in her face. Charles doesn’t give a damn. Let this be a blind item in tomorrow’s tabloid rags, let everyone gossip about this. He doesn’t need to try and protect her reputation anymore.

“You fail to understand that, as always, you have everything backwards. In reality, someone like me could never deserve someone like Erik. He’s a good person, with a heart and soul still left in him. Not that you would understand anything about that. He loves me in spite of all the things you believe are assets. He doesn’t want my money or my connections or my businesses, or any of the other things that don’t matter.  He doesn’t have the baggage that comes from being born into the wealth and prestige of American royalty. Or English royalty. If Xavier Innovations went belly-up tomorrow, and I lost everything and had nothing to offer him but myself, he would love me just the same. You can’t see that Erik is priceless, someone so rare and valuable that his worth can’t be quantified. Whereas my worth could easily be broken down into a few numbers and adjusted for the current economy.” Charles closes his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts before continuing. “I love Erik. He, and Raven, are my family. And he isn’t going anywhere. If you can’t accept that, then perhaps we should part ways.”

Sharon’s face goes from angry purple to shocked white in seconds, as her eyes widen. “Charles, I see that you’re upset and hysterical, but think about what you’re saying.”

Charles snorts. “Hysterical, because I’m finally saying what I should have years ago? Don’t worry, Sharon, I have thought about what I’m saying. And if I were out of control, you can be sure that I would be using a lot more vulgarity to describe what I think of you after the way you treated my partner of five years.”

He pauses for a second to let her worry about what’s coming next. “You won’t ever speak to Erik that way again. And if you would like me to maintain a civil relationship with you, you will call him and apologize, profusely and sincerely, for the inexcusable way you have behaved tonight. You will not call us tomorrow, we have a lovely day planned that doesn’t include family drama and stress. We will arrive home in two hours: if you haven’t called him by then, consider us estranged.”

The gasp Sharon lets out is audible to everyone in earshot, but Charles has zero feelings of guilt. He turns to leave the room.

“Charles! I am your _mother_ , how dare you!”

“You were my mother. Now you’re just some entitled cow who treated my partner like trash and broke my heart. Good-bye, Sharon. Think about what I said.”

Charles storms out of the room, still full of the icy rage that prompted his little speech, but he’s fairly sure he can hear Raven laughing above the furious whispering that’s broken out and start a slow-clap that no one else joins in on. He allows himself a small smile at her utter lack of sensitivity and makes a mental note to send her some flowers.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 

As soon as he ran from the party, Erik located their driver and asked him to start the car, Mr. Xavier would be out in just a moment. Then he curled up in the backseat, using his coat for a pillow, and focused on calming down so he didn’t embarrass himself by doing something stupid like crying. Sharon Xavier was a privileged old white bigot, and no one cared what she said. Because she only said a bunch of nonsense. Charles didn’t care that his grandparents came to this country as immigrants with twelve dollars in their pockets, or that his mother lived in a tiny house in Queens, or that Erik hadn’t gone to private school or even a prestigious college.

Most of the time, Erik is very proud of his heritage. His grandparents came here with nothing and made a life for themselves, started a family. His parents, the children of immigrants, grew up with other children making fun of them and other people judging them, and thrived in spite of that, hanging on to their culture and their faith despite the pressure to blend in. And they raised Erik to be proud of his people and his history, to work hard and prosper, and not let anyone take that away from him. That's a far more inspirational story than a long line of rich people who managed to stay rich. 

Charles feels the same way he does. That’s the real reason Edie loves him, title or no: Charles’s deep and persistent curiosity in the Lehnsherr family chronicles. He loves sitting on the threadbare paisley couch, going over photo albums and scrapbooks and newspaper clippings with Edie, letting her talk his ear off about all the obscure branches of the family.

Erik smiles, thinking about it. That’s the Charles he loves. The wide-eyed history geek eating his mother’s awful cookies and nodding along as she points a black and white picture and tells him a long, rambling story about Cousin Joseph, who escaped the Nazis by praying for strength and found a baseball bat in the alley that he used to knock out all the guards and liberate a whole neighborhood. Erik thinks that story is greatly exaggerated. When he was a kid, the story started with Cousin Joseph hiding in a cellar for two weeks until the army left the farm and he could escape. But he lets his mother tell all the tall tales she wants, it’s much better than her asking him why she doesn’t have any grandchildren yet.

Erik breathes in for several seconds, and then lets it out slowly. He feels better, thinking about Charles sitting in his mother’s living room with a plate of burnt cookies and a faded photo album. He isn’t sure whether Charles does things like that for him, or if he’s genuinely that curious about Erik’s family history. Either one is kind of adorable.

Just as the warmth of the car and the softness of his improvised pillow are lulling him to sleep, a rush of freezing air and the slam of the car door interrupt, and he looks up to see Charles settling in and buckling his seat belt. The car starts moving and Charles greets Matty, then puts up the privacy partition. Charles’s face is flushed red and his mouth is set in a thin line, a frown still etched on his brow. But his face softens a little when he sees Erik curled up in the corner.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he says quietly and pauses. “Are you alright?”

Erik looks away. On one hand, that was pretty humiliating. Being told by your boyfriend’s mother that you’re nothing and he could do better, in front of a bunch of snobby rich people. But on the other hand, it’s nothing new. He always knew Sharon felt this way, and it sucked, but it didn’t change how Charles felt about him. And honestly…

“Honestly, yeah.” Charles doesn’t really look like he believes him, so Erik tries to wake his brain up enough to explain this properly. “Look Charles, I love you, but your mother is awful. Joking aside, she’s a terrible person.”

“I know,” Charles jumps in, looking anxious. “Please believe me, I am not making excuses for her. Tonight was exceptionally appalling, but she has never treated you with respect, and I am so so sorry—”

“No, don’t. It’s not your fault that she’s a terrible person. Please don’t apologize for her. But the thing is, she’s a horrible human being and I think it would actually be worse if she did approve of me, right? Because that means there’s something about me that a terrible human likes, and that’s no good. So, yeah, it sucked that she yelled at me tonight, but overall? I’m okay with her disapproval because it’s better than the alternative.”

Charles nods, but he still looks wary. Erik sits up and puts a hand on his leg. “Honestly, I’m okay. Don’t beat yourself up about this, Sharon isn’t your fault.”

“I’ve told her that she needs to call you and apologize. Tonight, before we get home. I didn’t want her ruining Christmas tomorrow by calling. But if you’re too tired or you just don’t want to deal with her, you can let it go to voicemail.” Charles sighs. “If she calls, that is.”

Erik shrugs. He’s kind of hoping she doesn’t end up calling, he really doesn’t need a second round of Sharon’s garbage. He is planning to let it go to voicemail if she surprises him and calls. “Okay. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I’m not mad or hurt, I’m just tired and I’d rather not talk about your mother.”

“Of course,” Charles is quick to agree. “Do you need anything, water, snacks?”

Erik stretches back out along the car seat, resting his head on the balled-up coat and draping his legs over Charles’s lap. “Nah, I’m good. Wake me up when we’re home, ‘kay?”

“Alright.”

The rest of the trip passes quickly. Erik is half-asleep, half-drowsy, listening to the classical music Charles has put on in the car for Erik. And before he knows it, the car is slowing to a stop in front of their building. Erik yawns and forces himself to face the freezing chill outside, running inside the building while Charles thanks Matty and wishes him a merry Christmas, and tells him to have a good night. Charles is probably clearing out all of the garbage Erik left in the car, but Erik is too focused on getting warm again to feel guilty.

The concierge inside the building offers to get him hot cocoa or tea or apple cider or coffee, and for once, Erik is feeling lazy enough to take her up on it. He asks for some apple cider, and declines anything for Mr. Xavier. Charles doesn’t drink caffeine after seven, and he won’t want anything else here. He sips the cider, relishing the mild burn he gets on tongue. He doesn’t even care, it’s just so nice to be toasty warm.

Charles finally comes inside, red-cheeked and adorable, and they walk over to the elevator. Charles asks him if he needs anything before they turn in for the night, and Erik says no, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It’s sweet, that Charles is trying so hard. Really. Or, it was a first.

But now, the guilt complex is growing old very quickly. All day it’s been, “yes Erik”, “no problem”, “sure”, “anything you want, Erik”, etc. Charles was fetching him drinks, putting on Erik’s favorite music in the car instead of his own, agreeing with everything he said, and gave Erik the last almond croissant—Charles _loves_ the almond croissants.

The elevator opens into their apartment and Charles hangs back so Erik can exit first. Charles follows him into the kitchen, where Erik heads directly for the refrigerator to make himself a turkey sandwich. Which Charles promptly takes over, telling Erik to take a seat and relax.

Charles has been walking on eggshells all day, Erik fumes, eating his sandwich as angrily as one can eat a delicious sandwich. He’s been terrified of making a wrong move, too scared and uncertain to say or do anything that will send Erik away again. And Erik decides he is really fed up with this.

“Enough, Charles!” he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I know that it’s going to take some time to get back to some kind of normal between us…and that little scene at your mother’s was far from pleasant, but I’m not angry at you or upset. I can’t stand this, you acting like I’m going to bolt if you breathe wrong. Did you fuck someone?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Is there something you haven’t told me, another reason you have to feel guilty aside from the marriage thing?”

“What, no, I didn’t—”

“We were broken up, technically. Technically it wouldn’t have been cheating. Just tell me if there was someone else.”

Charles takes a deep breath and looks away. Erik feels his stomach drop, but forces himself to keep a straight face. He meant what he said. If Charles fucked someone else in the few days they were broken up, he’ll get over it. He will forgive him and move on. It didn’t mean anything, he tells himself firmly, Charles was hurt and angry and convinced he’d lost Erik, it meant nothing. Charles clears his throat and Erik steels himself.

“I… almost. Sort of. I went out drinking and once I’d cleared a few pints, I decided it would help me to move on. But Tony stopped me. I didn’t sleep with anyone, didn’t get past flirting, but I thought about it. I’m sorry.”

Erik drops back against the counter. “Oh thank fuck,” he says with feeling. Charles jerks his head up, frowning in a silent question. “I meant it, I swear, I would’ve… I would’ve forgiven you. But I’m really fucking glad I don’t have to.”

The whole painful exchange is worth it when Charles finally smiles for the first time all day, and Erik feels a little lighter. Charles reaches out and takes his hand. “For what it’s worth, six large pints thought that was a good idea. I wouldn’t have decided to do that sober. Even thinking we were over, I wouldn’t have… I didn’t want anyone else, even a rebound.” Charles squeezes his hand and his smile turns a little snarky. “Maybe this will let you ease up on Tony. He was trying to do you a solid, telling me to get my head out of my arse and pulling me out of the bar.”

Erik snorts. “I’ll be nice to him up until the next time he tells me I’m wasting my time at my job and I should just work for him instead.”

“Fair enough.”

Erik studies the other man’s face. A lot of the tension and stress Charles has carried for days is still there, but some of it has eased. “Charles, when’s the last time we had sex?”

Charles’s eyebrows shoot up. “I… hell, I have no idea. It’s been awhile.”

“Months,” Erik corrects, “it’s been months. And that’s a problem. We had sex all the time before the proposal, and then we were not-fighting and we just stopped. I think we should have sex.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sexual frustration is no laughing matter. If I go without for much longer, I think my balls are going to shrivel and fall off.”

Charles starts laughing and Erik lets him for a moment before speaking again. “Don’t you want to?”

“How is that even a question? Of course I want to, Erik, I nearly jumped you in the bloody car on the way there this morning. I was trying to give you some space, considering what happened, I didn’t want to push you. Even if the only thing I can think of lately is you naked.”

That’s a good answer. Erik ducks in to kiss him before he sees it coming. Charles switches gears quickly, kissing Erik back and throwing his arms around Erik’s neck. It’s like opening a floodgate. They’ve barely even touched for months, much less engaged in any physical intimacy. The pent-up frustration and lust and feeling comes crashing out and things get heated quickly. Erik pushes Charles back against the opposite counter, grinding him into it. Then Charles sucks on his tongue and he loses it a little, groping Charles’s ass and lifting up him to drop on the countertop, where Charles wraps his legs around Erik’s waist and pulls him closer. Erik starts sucking bruises into Charles’s neck (which normally Charles doesn’t allow in the name of being professional but Erik thinks he can get away with it tonight) while Charles fumbles with Erik’s belt and zipper before opening his own. As soon as his cock is out, Erik pushes him flat on the counter and leans over him.

He doesn’t think he can last long enough for anything more than undignified frottage, but thankfully it seems Charles feels the same, the way he’s rubbing back against Erik in short, jerky movements and the look on his face. He just... he needs this. They both do. They need it fast and they need to be face to face for this.

It’s frankly embarrassing how long he lasts. He thrusts against Charles, savoring his moans, while making more bruises on his collarbone, and comes within minutes, using his hand to finish Charles off a few seconds later. He lays against Charles, panting, while Charles does the same. In his defense, it’s been months since he had this and he’s been gagging for it. Charles probably could have made him come in his pants just by licking his lips… his plush, slutty red lips. Christ, Erik misses blowjobs. When’s the last time Charles went down on him? Charles is so fucking good at it too, you’d think he was a professional with the way he used his tongue… oh, fuck.

Charles raises a single eyebrow as he feels Erik getting hard. “Again, seriously? It’s been five minutes.”

Erik groans and turns his head so Charles can’t see. “Can’t you just take it as a compliment?”

“Oh, absolutely I do. Thinking lovely things about me, hm?”

He hums against Charles’s neck. “Thinking about how much I miss your mouth.”

He can feel the tiny chuckle vibrating in Charles’s chest. “See, that could mean so many things, darling. Do you miss the scandalous things I say in bed? Or the way I kiss you? The way my mouth looks wrapped around your gorgeous cock? The—”

Erik shuts him up with a kiss.

“All of the above,” Erik murmurs against his lips. “And listening to you talk to me. And your smile.” Erik doesn’t acknowledge that it’s the first time Charles has called him darling since the summer. He missed hearing that word out of his lover’s mouth more than he missed sex.

“Sap,” Charles accuses. But one of them has a tear in his eye and it’s not Erik. Charles kisses him again, softly, before pulling away with a cheeky grin. “Help me clean up in the shower and I’ll refresh your memory.”

Erik straightens up and pulls Charles with him. “Deal.”

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven always has the last laugh. Don't worry, there’s more to come!


	6. Interlude: proposal number 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue meet cute

It’s a Friday night like any other.

Erik and the one coworker he doesn’t despise started with happy hour after work, and from there, Erik was dragged to another pub to meet up with some other “totally cool people”. He isn’t one for socializing but he might as well, it’s not like he has anything else to do besides laundry or reorganizing his apartment for the fortieth time. He’s actually having a good time when he hears a loud group at the bar next to him start cheering while he waits for his drink.

He looks over to see a thin slip of a man ( _must be an undergraduate_ , Erik decides) who’s tipping back a two-foot tall glass boot filled with beer. Erik remembers thinking that he’s always wanted to see someone drink their own bodyweight in beer, and also that he better dial an ambulance now for when the kid passes out in a few minutes.

Yet, the kid triumphantly finishes the boot to shattering applause, gives everyone high fives, and stumbles closer to the bar, brushing Erik’s arm. The kid notices Erik staring at him and raises an eyebrow.

“If you think you’re impressed now, wait a few moments. That was just a start.”

Before he can think better of it, Erik puts a hand over his heart and says, “Marry me.”

The kid bursts out laughing.

“Come on, you ought to buy a man a drink first!”

Slowly, his brain is coming back online. Damn, but that was impressive. And the kid is so nonchalant and cocky about it, too, which somehow makes it all the more interesting. He's still drinking in those incredibly vivid blue eyes that seem to see right through him. And the kid must like what he sees, because a knowing little half-smile lingers around the corner of his mouth, warm and wry. The English accent is an unexpected but luscious bonus. Like, the male equivalent of panty-melting sexy.  _Focus_ , he reminds himself. Erik signals the bartender and turns back to the kid, extending a hand which is accepted gingerly. “Erik Lehnsherr. And I’d prefer you call me that over ‘the old ball and chain’, very unflattering. ‘Hubby’ or ‘my better half’ would be fine, I suppose. I could also accept ‘oh god yes’ in certain contexts,” he adds, with a crooked grin at the end.

Fortunately, the other man has a sense of humor, and chuckles instead of slapping him. “My, you’re confident. Is it really that easy for you to succeed with this material?”

“I've never tried it before,” Erik pauses, “but I think it’s working just fine.”

The bartender interrupts briefly, delivering their beers while the kid holds his gaze for a minute or two, assessing, before he smiles and reaches for the pint in front of him, lifting it in front of him. Erik does the same with his own glass. “Charles Xavier. To the beginning of a beautiful… friendship,” he smirks, tapping his glass to Erik’s.

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” Erik returns.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

 

 

 


	7. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD EVENING MY LOVELIES! WELCOME TO THE END!  
> It’s finally here.  
> Y’all better be grateful, because I spent four hours writing this with a leaky pen. By the time I finished, my hand looked like something Cruella DeVille would hunt down and turn into a coat.  
> Okay, first things first—I changed the rating because, and I truly don’t know how this happened, but as I was frantically scribbling, I ended up writing a rather explicit sex scene. I’ve literally never done this in my life. Written sex scenes, sure, but I planned them and set out to write them into my stories. Never before written one on a writing binge. So, consider this your warning that things are about to get sexxxy, and if you don’t want to read it, there are plenty of exit signs before it’s too late.  
> Alright. Let's go <3

As soon as he’s sure that Erik has reached the pristine sparkling water and white sand of the private beach, Charles dials Armando and tucks the phone to his ear while he grabs their suitcases. Even exhausted and still jetlagged from the twelve-hour flight, it will drive him crazy to leave everything in the luggage any longer. It was bad enough last night when Erik convinced him to leave it til the morning, and watch _It’s A Wonderful Life_ instead like they do every Christmas.

“Hey boss,” Armando says after a beat and Charles can hear him stifling a yawn.

Charles pauses with a stack of shirts in his hands. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’m still adjusting to the time difference. What is it, uh… about one in the afternoon?”

“No, it’s fine, just a little sleep-deprived. We drove through the night to get back from Michigan. Scott’s foster parents took him to see their family, so there wasn’t any point in staying.”

He winces, feeling even guiltier. Calling Armando to ask for a personal favor the day after Christmas is bad enough, and now he’s reminded that Armando has a lot more to worry about than Charles’s relationship. “Oh, I’m so sorry. When I talked to Alex, he said he was going to spend two days with Scott.”

“Yeah, we were supposed to. The Nelsons changed their minds last minute.” Armando says in a harder tone.

“Alex is using that lawyer Emma recommended, isn’t he? I’ve told him a million times, if he needs anything, he should call me,” Charles frowns at the closet.

“He knows. And the lawyer is great, she’s been patient with us and careful not to get Alex’s hopes up too soon. But we’ve got an uphill battle. Alex is trying to get custody of a ten-year-old with prison on his record.” Armando sighs. “On top of that, the Nelsons apparently didn’t know Alex has a black boyfriend, so they suddenly remembered they needed to leave early for the cousin’s Christmas dinner.”

“Oh Armando—”

“It’s. Whatever. I’ve dealt with it before. I just… you know, feel guilty it’s my fault Alex missed that time with Scott. But look, let’s talk about something else, I don’t want to think about it anymore,” he coughs. “I hear the company jet did end up keeping the flight plan for Hawaii. Are congratulations in order?”

Charles couldn’t stop the smile from breaking out. “Yes absolutely. Erik and I are back together.”

“That’s great, Charles. Glad you finally got your shit together.”

He laughs. “Me too. Listen, I want to apologize again for my outburst after Erik left, I—”

“It’s okay. You already apologized and I know what you must have been going through. I’m just relieved y’all are back together.”

“Yes, yes, me too.” Charles clears his throat. “Speaking of that, I actually called for more than just a chat. I wondered if you might be willing to help me with something.”

“Sure. As long as I don’t have to leave the comfort of my home during a holiday.”

Charles takes a deep breath then told Armando what he had planned.

 

After swimming until his legs feel like rubber, Erik decides to give up the ocean for the day and go back to their room. Or, condo rather. They’re here for a whole ten days, plenty of time to enjoy that gorgeous crisp water.

In his rush earlier to get down to the ocean, he hadn’t paid much attention to the path and it’s coming back to bite him. All the exotic gardens, carefully cultivated to make everything look as though it’s part of some ancient tropical forest, but also very expensive and vogue, disguises the winding stone paths that lead back to individual condos. Nothing so gauche as cement sidewalks or sign posts to guide the way, standard in a normal hotel. No, in a luxury resort, every tiny detail has to be into its most extravagant self.

Finally, he does find the proper path and picks his way through the banyan trees and hanging vines back to their condo. As he gets nearer, he can see the whole interior. The walls of the condo are essentially made up of blurred panes of glass with steel framing and reclaimed wooden doors. He’s about to open the door when he sees Charles walk into the main area from the bedroom. With a phone pressed against his ear.

Erik freezes. Is Charles fucking insane? After everything they’ve just been through, after months of passive aggressive fighting about the proposal and Charles working too much? And he thought now would be a good time to do some work?

He eases the door open, grateful for the luxury because it doesn’t make a sound. Charles has his back to the door and is apparently too focused to notice Erik walk inside.

“…no, no, that’s fine,” Charles is saying, still unaware of Erik, “as long as you’re certain she’s available and the paperwork is ready.”

Any chance of Erik handling this with grace evaporate. This is clearly a business call and Charles has some fucking nerve.

“Right. Right, okay.” Charles pauses. “Thanks so much, Armando, I—”

Erik rips the phone out of his hand, registering Charles’s expression of shock and dismay before he puts the phone to his ear. “Armando, hello, happy holidays. Speaking of which, can you explain to me why you’re on the phone with your boss instead of relaxing at home?” Erik growls into the phone.

“Oh. Uh, hello, Erik.” Armando has the decency to sound embarrassed. “Well, you see, there was just this one small thing—”

Erik takes the phone away from his ear and lets it dangle by his side. “Charles, you’re unbelievable! We haven’t even been here one fucking day before you’re sneaking off to harass your employees and work over fucking Christmas!”

Charles flinches. “Erik, it was nothing, really—”

“Oh, is that right? Erik picks the phone back up. “Armando, I assume you heard that, so go on and tell me what Charles called about. And you know, you’re as bad as he is. When your lunatic boss calls you over the holidays, you don’t have to pick up the phone. You’re a fucking enabler!”

“Erik, Erik, just hold on a sec—”

“Nothing could possibly be this important!”

Charles is trying to grab the phone, but Erik bats his hands away impatiently.

“It wasn’t work-related!” Armando shouts over the chaos.

Erik stops. “What?”

Armando sighs. “He was trying to arrange a surprise for you. A little last-minute, but I guess I know why he put it off until a few days ago.”

He closes his eyes. Of _course_ Armando knew about their fight. Charles’s own sister hadn’t known, but his damn assistant knew everything.

Armando continues before Erik can interrupt again. “And I’m going to tell you because if I know Charles, he’ll try to deny it so it’ll still be a surprise and I don’t have the time or energy for another fight between you.” He pauses for breath, then continues. “Charles planned a helicopter tour of the island for Monday. There. Surprise ruined. Can you two stop fighting and let me get back to my holiday? Because I have my own partner waiting for me, who also hates the epic Charles-Erik fights.”

Erik is feeling pretty fucking embarrassed at this point. Charles is looking at him warily like he’s worried Erik is going to bolt or slap him. “Merry Christmas, Armando. Sorry to put a damper on the holiday.” He hands the phone to Charles.

Charles glues the phone to his ear, his eyes watching Erik’s face, while Erik tries to avoid eye contact. His whole face must be lobster-red by now.

“Armando?” Charles asks.

Then Erik hears the low rumble of Armando’s voice and Charles’s face relaxes a little as he nods along. He thanks Armando again and hangs up. And he doesn’t say anything, just waits and looks at Erik.

It doesn’t take more than a minute or two before Erik cracks. “So possibly I may have overreacted.”

The corners of Charles’s eyes crinkle. “Maybe just a little.”

He knows he overreacted. Still… “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Charles shrugs. “I wanted it to be a surprise, I thought that would be more fun. Erik,” he hesitates. “Just because the fight is over doesn’t mean things will go right back to normal. I know that and I think you know that too. We both have a couple sore spots to work on. But I’ll say this as many times as I need to: I love you and I want to spend my life with you.”

Erik can only manage a nod in response.

Charles takes a few steps forward and rests his hands on Erik’s shoulders. “We’re going to make it. We’ll be alright this time.”

He loops his arms around Charles’s waist and rests his chin on Charles’s head.

 

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The next few days pass in a blissful blur. Thursday, they drive up the coast the see the Kilauea lighthouse, then onto the tide pools so Charles can indulge his science geek. Erik opts for kayaks at the wildlife refuge so they can go all the way along the river. On Friday, they fly into Honolulu, where they spend an overwhelming two days at the various historical sites. The last remaining royal palace  Iolani, the remains of King Kamehameha’s palace, the striking Islamic art at the Shangri-La, and a sobering visit to Pearl Harbor.

They’re both a little worn by Sunday so they have a lazy morning back at their resort, then go snorkeling after lunch at one of the quieter beaches.

Monday they gear up for the activity Erik’s been looking forward to for months: hiking the Kalalau trail on the coast. It’s supposed to be some of the most beautiful scenery, which is saying something in Hawaii, but hiking along the mountains there is pretty dangerous.

It’s tough going, especially for Charles, who’s in decent shape, but he’s more of a worrier than Erik. Still, when they arrive at the top of one of the peaks, above the treeline, the breathtaking view of the lush island and the miles of deep blue ocean stretching to the horizon make their struggles to reach the place completely worth it.

After several moments of staring out at the view, Charles turns to Erik and kisses him. “Thank you for dragging me out here. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.”

Then Charles drops to his knees and for one shocked second Erik thinks Charles is about to give him a blowjob. But gradually his brain starts working again and he notices that Charles isn’t on his knees, exactly, but rather, leaning on just one knee like…

Erik swallows, looking to Charles’s face. The other man has a small, quiet smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” Erik asks.

“Erik,” Charles says gently, somehow putting so much love into that one word that Erik feels a tickle in his throat. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life. You showed me how wonderful life can be, brought out a whole new side of me. I feel things for you I didn’t think were really possible. I want a life with you, until we’re both grey and grumpy and too stiff to get out of bed in the morning. Erik, darling… will you marry me?”

There may be one or two tears running down his face, but Erik isn’t ashamed of them. “I…yes, I—you know it’s yes, why—”

“I thought you had done your fair share of proposing, and it was time for me to do my part.” Charles stands up straight and kisses Erik softly. “One more question.”

“What?”

“Marry me today?”

Erik pulls away, truly confused now, but Charles looks perfectly composed and serious. “What are you talking about?”

“We can get married here, today, if you want.” Charles brushes his thumb over Erik’s cheek. “It’s not quite Vegas, I already filled out some paperwork. But Hawaii doesn’t have a waiting period for a marriage license.”

He feels like his brain is struggling its way through a dense formula. “But… we’d need a minister or a rabbi or something… and people, you know witnesses, who would we find?”

Charles opens his mouth, but Erik barrels on. “And, and what are you even saying? We can’t elope! You always said you’d have to have some huge elaborate wedding, your mother wouldn’t let you get away with anything else. And that you have to invite dozens and dozens of your business partners and board members and socialites and investors because otherwise—”

“Erik,” Charles interrupts, grabbing his arms. “Slow down, okay? I did say all that. And it’s true, more or less. In my position, it could be a problem that I didn’t throw a large lavish wedding and invite all my colleagues. _I don’t care_. As for my mother, I hope you know I have zero concerns about what she wants after her atrocious behavior. Even if she hadn’t melted down the other night, I would still want this. Erik, I want a marriage, not a wedding.”

For a moment, he breaks off, looking off to gather his thoughts. “When we get married, I think it should just be about us. The two of us, making a promise to each other, tying our lives together. Not throwing a party to cater to other people. But, if you do want the whole wedding, I’d be perfectly happy to—”

“No,” Erik cut in, “no, I think that sounds just right. So. We could really get married today, just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“But. It’s the thirty-first, no one will be available, how would we even—”

“I might have made an appointment for this afternoon,” Charles says. “Just in case.”

“You just happened to make an appointment.”

“Yes?”

Erik narrows his eyes, thinking. “That call to Armando. Not just about a helicopter tour, was it?”

Charles shrugs. “Okay, busted. He helped me find a judge and set a time.”

“You thought of everything then. Did you secretly pack a wedding suit for me as well?”

Charles ducks his head.

“You didn’t.” Erik starts laughing. “What is it?”

“That slate-colored suit with a matte black shirt. No tie.”

“Aw, you do love me. What are you wearing?”

“The blue suit you like with an ivory shirt.”

“The one with the tight trousers?”

Charles flushes. “I had that suit made almost four years ago, excuse me for gaining a pound or two.”

“You see me complaining about the view, baby?”

Charles punches his shoulder playfully. “Alright, let’s go do this before you change your mind.”

“Not even if I had a lobotomy, Charles. Nothing could make me want to leave you.”

 

                                                                                 *             *             *             *             *

 

Charles Francis Xavier and Erik Jakob Lehnsherr marry a little after 2:30 p.m. on the thirty-first of December in a small courthouse in Kauai, with two clerks standing witness and a judge to perform the ceremony. They recite the same vows a million others have made before them, and add their own promises. The judge, a somber and stony-faced woman, has to turn away to wipe at a tear. Neither of them can stop smiling.

In one last surprise, Charles produces a ring from his pocket at the appropriate time. Erik peers down to see the ring he proposed with all those months ago. Charles must have hidden it away somewhere in their luggage and kept it on him all morning. Sliding that ring onto Charles’s finger makes him just as happy as he imagined it would when he drew the design for the jeweler. It’s a perfect fit. The platinum gleams against Charles’s pale skin, and the chips of diamond catch the light.

Erik feels blissfully light-headed as they make their way out of the courthouse and drive to the landing strip for the helicopter tour. He has the marriage license clasped in his hand and he keeps looking back at it, touching their signatures carefully on the page.

“We’re here. Let’s put that in the glove box for safe keeping.”

Charles reaches for the document, but Erik is reluctant to let go. “What if someone steals the car?”

“I already faxed a copy back to my lawyers in New York.”

Erik blinks. He had? “When?”

“While you were trying to find someone to take a picture.”

“I didn’t even notice. Why the hurry? We’ll be back in a few days, they could wait to file it until then.”

“It’s better to be safe, with something this important.”

“Alright. Let’s go be sickeningly romantic now. We did just get married.”

His husband smiles. “There’s a bottle of champagne in the helicopter.”

“Much better.”

The flight circles the island in about an hour and it’s fantastic. Everything is so green and wild and alive. They can see the mountains and the cliffs on the coast, the lush forests with bright flowers, the waterfalls, lakes and rivers. They sip the champagne and shout to each other over the deafening rumble of the blades.

It’s quite a few steps up from tin cans and streamers trailing behind a car with a “Just Married!” sign in the window.

 

                                                                                 *             *             *             *             *

 

New Year’s Eve this year makes for a quieter night than they’ve had in a long time. The resort throws a tasteful party in the main ballroom, complete with a champagne fountain and an enormous glittering chandelier that distracts from the waiting balloon drop. Servers weave through guests, proffering their light silver trays, while a small ensemble of string and bass instrument occupy a corner of the ballroom, flanked by a grand piano. Despite the opulence, it’s a small gathering of people, maybe only forty or fifty guests in attendance. Which doesn’t surprise Erik, it’s not exactly a popular time to vacation away from family. He and Charles usually field dozens of invitations to parties, and they either have to narrow down the list to one, or try to make it to their closest friends.

But this is a nice change. He and Charles have been refilling frequently from the champagne fountain and are more than a little drunk as a result. The room is dim and it takes on a warm glow, the low murmur of people talking and the soft chords of the band blend together in the background.

Over the night, their chairs have moved closer together at the little table, and Erik and Charles have leaned closer and closer, smiling, exchanging lingering kisses over the slim flutes.

Charles’s face is luminous, his eyes shining and so very blue. His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s had a small smile on his face all night.

“You want to dance?”

Charles looks surprised by the request, but doesn’t hesitate to take Erik’s hand. They’re both a little fuzzy from the champagne, but the waltz playing is easy enough to follow. Charles has his head tucked into Erik’s shoulder and his eyes closed, content to let Erik lead.

Everything has a dream-like quality. As they move in slow, sedate steps of the waltz, Erik doesn’t know if it’s the champagne or their glittering surroundings that make this feel like a fantasy… but he suspects it may have more to do with earlier.

In his right hand, he holds Charles’s left, and he rubs a finger over the warm metal band on the ring finger.

Charles turns his head to grin lazily up at Erik. “You keep fussing with it.”

Erik shrugs with mock nonchalance. “Sorry. Just waited a long time to put a ring on your finger.”

Charles grins some more, then lifts his face for a kiss. Erik stops moving in order to focus on the much more important issue. In the back of his mind, Erik is aware that they’re still standing in the middle of a ballroom, surrounded by people. But that seems like a very vague concept at the moment, with Charles’s warm mouth pressed against his, and the quiet satisfied sighs that escape when he opens his mouth.

Erik isn’t sure how long they stand there, pressed close, arms wrapped around each other, kissing in a way that’s a bit inappropriate, when he hears a pointed cough nearby. He breaks away from Charles and turns toward the sound, but he sees no one. Then one woman hastily looks away and begins talking loudly to the woman next to her.

“Ignore them, darling,” Charles breathes. “She’s just jealous, look at her husband. My husband is ever so much more handsome, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, I think my husband is the sexiest man in the room,” Erik says. He’s leaning in to pick up where they left off when he hears another interruption.

“You two are so cute! Is it your anniversary or something?” Another woman is standing by them now, beaming, while the man with her is awkwardly staring in a different direction.

Erik raises his eyebrows and looks down at Charles, who’s wearing a similar expression. They both have this woman pegged: straight, liberal, determined to distinguish herself from the mild homophobia of the other woman.

“Actually, it’s our…” Charles makes a show of checking his watch, “… nine-hour anniversary.”

The woman flutters her hands in excitement. “Oh you’re newlyweds! Oh my god, that’s amazing!”

“Is it?” Erik feigns puzzlement. “It wasn’t too difficult, we just signed some papers with a judge.”

She opens her mouth, confused, before looking to the man next to her, who just shrugs.

Charles decides to take pity on her. “Thank you, we’re very happy to be married. Enjoy your New Year’s.”

She’s back to beaming. “Happy New Year’s! And congratulations!” She bustles off with her companion, looking back to smile toothily ever so often.

Erik reels Charles back into his arms. “I’m surprised she didn’t send us off by shouting, ‘love wins!’”

“Hush,” Charles chides him, but Erik can tell he’s smiling. “She’s trying. I’ll take the woman trying too hard over the woman who insists she isn’t homophobic but just doesn’t want to watch ‘certain couples’ engage in affection.”

“I’d rather they just left us alone. I don’t feel the need to comment on her relationship, do I?”

“No darling, you prefer to know as little as possible about everyone.”

“Exactly.”

They dance for another few songs before the music stops. Everyone looks at each other then up at the band. One of the musicians has taken a mic from a nearby stand, and after receiving a nod from her fellow musicians, moves towards the front of the group.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good evening. I hope that you are all enjoying the party.” She spoke with a mild accent, maybe somewhere in eastern Europe. “Please forgive the interruption, but we have just learned that this is a special evening in particular for two of our guests… who were married earlier today.”

Erik turns to Charles, brows furrowed in a question, but Charles looks back at him equally baffled, shaking his head no.

A low rumble of conversation has risen in the crowd, a few audible coos and a smattering of muffled applause. The woman at the microphone smiles and clears her throat to speak again. “We would like to wish them congratulations. May your life together be long and filled with all the happiness in the world. Cheers.” She lifts an empty hand in imitation of raising a glass, right in the direction of where Erik and Charles stand, and she winks at them. The other guests notice where her gaze landed and like a ripple across water, they all begin to turn and see Erik and Charles standing together, arms still around each other from the dance. Soon, they are the focus of the room and people have begun to applaud and raise champagne flutes to them.

Erik feels himself unexpectedly moved by the sincere well-wishes of these complete strangers, and tries to hide his eyes welling up by pressing a small kiss to Charles’s cheek. Charles beams at him and kisses their linked hands.

“I’ll be right back,” Charles whispers suddenly, starting to pull away.

“What?” Erik asks. “No, where are you going?”

“I’ll only be a moment.” Charles smiles again before letting go of Erik’s hand and moving towards the band at the front of the room. People move aside easily, smiling, still clapping. Charles reaches the woman who made the announcement and leans close to her ear, probably trying to be heard over the background noise. She grins and nods, and Charles shakes her hand before turning back.

Erik frowns at him when he returns. “What did you say to her?”

“You’ll see.”

Back at the front of the room, the woman is speaking to her fellow musicians, gesturing toward Erik and Charles. Then she turns to a woman sitting at the piano and asks her something. The piano woman nods, and the first woman returns to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, one more surprise for you. We have the honor of playing the first official dance for the married couple. If you would please be kind enough to clear a small area for the newlyweds.”

People clap again, moving away from where Erik and Charles are standing. Erik fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. He’s never been very comfortable being the center of attention. Charles tugs at his hands, grinning mischievously.

“Charles…”

“Trust me, love.”

Erik takes a deep breath and forms a basic frame for a waltz, pulling Charles to him. A moment later, a dim spotlight lands on them, and a few opening notes from the piano and a horn let him know what the song is.

He laughs softly, falling into the easy steps. “You asked them for Ella.”

“Of course I did. It’s our song.”

_I never went in for afterglow/ or candlelight on the mistletoe, but now that you turn the lamp down low, I’m beginning to see the light_

The woman at the piano singing, and they’re doing a slower-tempo version of the song, making it a little less upbeat. Which is probably better for a wedding dance.

Erik’s hands tighten on Charles.

A wedding dance. This is their wedding.

And it’s perfect.

_I never made love by lantern-shine/ I never saw rainbows in my wine, but now that your lips are burning mine, I’m beginning to see the light_

 

                                                                                 *             *             *             *             *

 

It’s a miracle they make it back to the room.

They don’t quite reach the bed.

They’re stumbling through the living room and Charles pushes him down on his back in the middle of the floor, on top of that huge fluffy rug. In front of the enormous panes of glass, the dark tropical forests waiting outside. Anyone could walk past and see them. Erik doesn’t care. He can’t think.

“Charles… Charles, I need—”

“Shh, I know.” Charles kisses him, mercifully stopping Erik from begging. But then he pulls away, prompting Erik to make a noise of protest.

“We need something,” Charles says, “I want to fuck my husband properly on our wedding night. Don’t move.”

He groans, but Charles is already up and racing down the hall before Erik can stop him. Taking advantage of his absence, he removes his shirt and trousers, but Charles returns before he can take off the rest. Charles drops a bottle next to them on the rug and straddles Erik’s hips, leaning down to kiss him.

Erik falls back on the rug, taking Charles with him, their lips still pressed together.

“Now, Charles, don’t mess around.”

“I’ve got you. It’s alright.” Erik twists, trying to move Charles so he can get his clothes off.

“C’mon—”

“Erik.” Charles doesn’t shout or scold, his voice is soft. “We’ve all night. We got married today, my darling. Let me take my time with you.”

He shudders at the promise, his cock hard enough to be painful, trapped between them with Charles rocking against him.

Charles does take his time, removing their clothes with care, then opening Erik up so slowly Erik almost kicks him. He shifts impatiently and Charles presses down on his hips with one arm, the other hand two fingers deep inside Erik.

“God, you’re so tight. It’s been too long, love. I should be fucking you often enough you just open right up for me.”

A shiver runs over his whole body at that; he can feel a drop sliding down from the tip of his cock.

“You like the idea of that, don’t you? Mmm, I do too. By the time I’m done, you’ll forget what it’s like not to have me inside of you, fucking you open, hard enough to knock you back into this rug over and over, your arse stretched wide to take my cock. You’ll have my come dripping down these lovely thighs for days.” Charles nips along the tender skin of his inner thighs. That, combined with his low voice pouring out filth, nearly makes him come right then. He grips his cock at the base, hissing at the awful feeling, but he doesn’t want to come yet.

“Darling,” Charles breathes in his ear, “you think you’re ready for me?”

Erik nods frantically. He feels Charles smile against his cheek. “Alright.” Charles rears back, his eyes fixed on Erik’s face. He takes Erik’s hands, which are tangled in the fibers of the rug, and moves them to the backs of his knees. “Hold your legs back for me there.”

He swallows but does as Charles says, and pulls his legs back. It spreads him indecently wide, exposing his ass. Charles gazes down at him, smoothing a handful of lube over his cock and stroking himself as he stares unabashed at Erik’s ass. Erik shifts around, desperate to get some kind of relief, his head so clouded with need he can’t think.

Then Charles bends down and kisses him, his mouth hot and wet and he wastes no time working his tongue inside. He feels the tip of Charles’s cock start to nudge inside and he can’t hold back a whimper at the feeling. Fuck. He hasn’t had anything inside him like this for ages, he forgot. He forgot how thick Charles’s cock is, how wide it stretches him. Charles presses forward at a gradual pace, but he doesn’t stop, just keeps pushing until he’s fully seated inside Erik.

It’s too much, too deep. He can’t breathe. He feels that cock through the core of him, like he couldn’t—

“Breathe, love, come on,” Charles’s voice is gentle now at his ear. “Just breathe with it. We’ve done this a million times.”

“It’s—it’s been a long time,” he trails off, recapturing his breath.

“I know.” Charles noses along his jaw. “I should have been there for you. I should have been right here,” he punctuates the words with a twist of his hips.

Erik gasps as Charles’s cock goes right over his prostate. He’s vaguely aware of Charles wiping away a tear that escaped his eye.

“I should be inside your perfect tight arse every day, as often as you want it,” Charles purred in his ear, finally thrusting. “You should wake me up in the middle of the night when you want it, come to my office and tell me to fuck you because you can’t wait.”

He’s moving at a leisurely pace, but each thrust has enough force to shove Erik up the rug. The slap of their skin, the muffled thuds on the floor, the wet sounds of Charles’s cock in his ass are unbelievably obscene. Erik is breathing fast, his arms shaking as he tries to keep a grip on his legs with sweat-slick hands.

“We’ll be out to dinner or at a show, and you won’t be able to wait. You won’t want to. You’ll whisper it in my ear, terrified of someone hearing, but determined to get it anyway. You’ll tell me to fuck you right then and I’ll jump at the chance. I’ll never turn down a chance to be inside you.”

Charles spanks him then, a quick swat to his ass that still makes Erik’s eyes roll back in his head. He gives up the losing battle of holding his thighs and lets go, crossing his ankles behind Charles’s back instead. It leaves his hands free to grip Charles’s shoulders, the nails digging in and doubtless leaving marks.

“God, look at you,” Charles says. “Fucking perfect, Erik. How could you think I’d ever want anyone else? How could I not want to tether you to me for the rest of our lives? Catch you before you realize I don’t deserve you?”

He drives forward hard then and Erik cries out, that cock splitting him open.

“Yes love, louder, I want to hear you. Come on, give it to me, give it up.”

Erik groans, turning his head aside.

“Oh god, do that again, your throat is so fucking gorgeous. I want to mark you up like we’re teenagers necking in a car.”

He obliges, twisting his head more to the side. It brings the windows directly into view and he freezes, feeling caught.

“What is it?” Charles slows, then follows his gaze. He starts moving again with a low chuckle. “That’s right, we forget to draw the curtains. Anyone could see you, couldn’t they? Spread wide, gasping for my cock. Screaming when I’m inside you.”

A whimper escapes his mouth. “You like that. All those people who watched us earlier, a lovely young couple in love now a quivering, sweaty mess fucking out in the open… utterly shameless. Whatever would they think?”

Erik pinched his shoulder in a weak retort, but Charles just laughed. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Go on, look in the windows. Look at us.”

He does. Charles meets his gaze in the window, then starts fucking him harder. The picture they make… Erik on his back, his legs spread wide and bobbing in the air, Charles’s round ass flexing between his thighs. He can also see pink lines running down Charles’s back and shoulders from his nails. The curve of Charles’s back over Erik’s body as he lies on top of him, balanced on his elbows like the world’s most scandalous yoga position.

“Look how perfect you are. How good we are together. I love how you feel around me like this. Can’t get as deep as when you’re on your knees for me, but I love it like this. I belong here, between your thighs, and you know that. You squeeze those strong legs around me like you’re trying to keep me here.”

Erik inhales sharply as Charles bites his collarbone.

“Look at me.” Charles’s voice is soft as he moves faster. “Look at me. I want to look at you when you come.”

He does, turning to meet Charles’s eyes just as Charles reaches down to stroke his cock. One touch is enough, and Erik is coming with a shout all over Charles’s hand.

Charles curses under his breath, stroking Erik through it, his own movements getting faster and uneven. Erik digs his nails in, scratching down Charles’s back before settling on his ass. His head is still spinning from orgasm, but he needs this too, needs Charles to come.

“C’mon, harder,” Erik eggs him on, “I know you want to really give it to me.”

Charles is panting into Erik’s chest, rattling his whole body with the force of his thrusts.

“C’mon,” he says, “I wanna know what it feels like when my husband comes in me.”

Charles thrusts deep with a low, drawn-out groan and drops down onto Erik. He moves his hips a few times, riding through his orgasm, before lying still.

For a while, they lie there and try to catch their breath, letting their heart rates come back down. Then Charles turns his head and starts kissing Erik. Deep, open-mouthed, passionate kissing with an edge of desperation. Erik kisses him back for a minute before he breaks away.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Charles breathes out. “Yes. I just… god, I forget how much I feel for you sometimes, Erik. It overwhelms me. Everything I am, body and soul, is caught up in you.”

Erik strokes his hand through Charles’s hair. “I would be hollow without you. You’d take everything with you if you ever left me. I couldn’t ever feel this way about another person.”

“Good. I intend to keep you, you know.”

“I’m glad. Otherwise that whole marriage thing earlier could have made this a bit awkward.”

Charles chuckles into his skin, then shifts to kiss him. The need is still there, but the frantic edge is gone.

Charles’s cock is still inside him and his eyes go wide as he feels Charles getting hard again. “Again?” he breaks away to ask.

Charles rolls his hips. “Mm, again.” Then without any warning, he starts thrusting, the mess of come in Erik’s ass making filthy noises and he feels his heart actually stop for a second as his blood rushes south. “And again and again and again and again,” his husband promises in a low voice, timing the words to his cock thrusting into Erik.

 

                                                                                 *             *             *             *             *

 

They don’t manage to leave the room for four days.

On the fourth day, they barely leave in time to get to the airport for their flight.

Hawaii may be one of the most beautiful places on earth, with hundreds of amazing things to see and do. But it turns out Charles Xavier would rather see his new husband come over and over again.

“You sure you don’t want a go on the plane?” Charles whispers as they buckle in. “A private plane would be the best way to join the mile-high club.”

Erik shoots him a baleful look. “Charles, if I manage to sit down properly anytime in the next week, I’m counting it as a victory. You really think I want to fuck again?”

God. The worst part is Erik isn’t even trying to flirt or make him hard, but there it is. Watching Erik shift around in the luxury padded seat, trying to get comfortable, is so fucking sexy he can hardly stand it. _I did that_ , some inner caveman crows, _I fucked him so well he can’t move without thinking of me, he can’t forget how I feel inside him._

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me if you don’t want me to do anything about it,” Charles teases. “Can you blame a man for making the most of his honeymoon?”

Erik stills, his hands frozen over his carry-on before he turns to look at Charles. “It was, wasn’t it? We went on our honeymoon and I didn’t even notice.” Erik is trying to look annoyed, but the grin on his face ruins it.

“We’ll go on another if you like,” he promises easily.

“No,” Erik says immediately, then coughs. “No, I… this one was perfect.”

He looks at Charles. “Everything was perfect. It was just for us.”

“Darling.” It’s all he can say. He reaches across the gap to take Erik’s hand. Erik clasps his hand, his thumb automatically going to the warm ring he put around Charles’s finger. Charles smiles and looks out the window, watching the world fall away beneath them.

 

                          *             *             *             *             *             *             *              *             *             *             *             *             *             *                          

 

_ In the meadow we can build a snowman _

_ and pretend that he is Parson Brown _

_ He’ll say “are you married?” we’ll say “no, man... _

_ but you can do the job when you’re in town.” _

_ Later on, we’ll conspire _

_ as we dream by the fire _

_ To face unafraid the plans that we made, _

_ walking in a winter wonderland _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all… it’s been a journey. I’m a little emotional over here. I loved writing this, and I loved sharing it with you, more than I thought I would. I know it took an absurd amount of time for me to finish this story, but…  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I feel like maybe this Erik and Charles aren’t done?  
> Would you like to get more from this universe? I have a couple of snippets that didn’t really fit into this story arch, but take place in the same universe—would anyone be into that? I was thinking about posting a couple of time stamps… maybe even a second saga, a BRIEF one. 
> 
> To answer another question, I also have some stuff I’m working on for Raven’s part. Do you want to see a little mini spin-off story of Raven and baby?  
> My folders are overflowing with Erik and Charles stories—most of them are sitting there half-done, waiting for me to get off my ass and give them resolution. I either desperately need proper motivation, a less demanding job so I have more free time, or possibly I need a beta? I’ve toyed with the idea of that for a while—not sure how I feel about a virtual stranger looking at my work before I edit it, I can be very protective. But I also think it would be helpful to bounce ideas off someone. So if that sounds tempting to anyone, let me know in the comments. 
> 
> Alright. This is it for now. I love you all, especially those who read to the very end, and with any luck, I’ll be seeing you again.  
> All my love <3 <3 <3


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